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

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.

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.

Unladylike: Author Interview with Pam Hogeweide

“I was gravely warned by some of my female acquaintances that no woman could expect to be regarded as a lady after she had written a book.” –Lydia M. Child, a 19th century women’s rights activist and abolitionist, as quoted in “Unladylike,” by Pam Hogeweide.

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

“I feel a significant and strong connection to my virtual sisters,” wrote Jennifer Luitwieler in her recent post, Six Degrees of Sisterhood.

Can I hear an Amen?!

For me, Pam Hogeweide is one of those virtual sisters. I look forward to the day I may meet Pam in person (at The Justice Conference in Portland at the end of the month, no less!) We were first introduced via email by Kathy Escobar (another virtual sista), but I had been noticing Pam’s writing and tweets around the blogosphere for some time, even before our introduction. I knew she was writing this book, “Unladylike: Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church” and watched the development carefully.

Gender equality is a hot topic, causing much division, and yet, through my own awakening to injustice in its many forms over the last decade, I hoped and prayed this book would shine a bright light into the unnecessary silencing too many women still endure. Personally, I am thankful for my faith community where women’s voices are heard–it’s not even a question–and we can get on with the business of what God uniquely calls us to do on the earth. But I grew up in a silence and a stifling and I know what she’s writing about. Moreso, I hoped her book would bring more language, tools and clarity to the gender justice conversation.

I wasn’t disappointed. Even that first night I slid open my Kindle and began to read Pam’s words, I encountered a wave of freedom in my own heart.

She said:

“In writing this book, I’ve discovered that freedom is acquired by conquest, not by gift. Women must discover our personhood and our God-given voice and power for ourselves. A good Christian woman must be willing to be unladylike to defy the forces of inequality that have held her back.”

Pam reminded me that I have a responsibility to lean into freedom–not just for myself, but for my sisters. Injustice doesn’t just run away. We have to say, Enough! If I am tired of silencing, I have to take a stand. Plus: If we want to be part of empowering women everywhere, understanding our value–and our equality in the eyes of God–is essential. It’s from this place that we can go on and transform our world.

In “Unladylike,” Pam drew me in with her gracious spirit, comfortable writing style, yet well-researched strength.

Through the lines, I heard a whisper, Another way is possible for our women.

My own reading has been a powerful experience and I really wanted to share it with you, my friends, here on SheLoves. So, I emailed Pam and asked her several questions, hoping you would also catch a glimpse of her heart and her passion and be awakened on your journey. I certainly was.

Conversation with Pam Hogeweide:

Idelette: When did you know—decide, really—that you needed to write this book? What was your tipping point?

Pam: I’d been blogging about six years and began to really wonder if I ought to try writing a book. I looked at the backlog of hundreds of posts I’d written and realized that the topic of women was one of the most written about themes on my blog. It’s also been one of the most controversial. Whenever I have blogged about women in the church and leadership, equality, etc. … my comments spike and the discussion gets quite lively. Passions run high from all points of view, including mine. I realized that this was a subject deep in my bones, something I could write about with wholeheartedness. So when my friend Kathy Escobar urged me to talk with her publisher, I decided to pitch it to him. That’s how Unladylike was born.

Idelette: Why is this your story to tell and who did you write this book for?

Pam: When I first began to reflect on writing about women and the church, the first mental obstacle I had to cross was the fact that I am not a pastor nor an elder. I do not have that story of being banned from following my calling because of my gender. And that’s when it hit me: despite the absence of a leadership call in my life, I have been acutely affected by inequality in the church towards my gender. My womanhood and identity have been profoundly affected and shaped by the messaging of the church that women are to remain in subservient roles. That is my story, and I realized it is the story for many other women, too. Most of us are not called to be pastors or leaders, yet women of faith bump up against what I refer to in the book as “an inner stain glass ceiling,” the personal censorship we put on ourselves out of a sense of lacking power. That’s the story I wanted to tackle and these are the women I wanted to reach, women like me who are ordinary Jesus women scarred from inequality.

Idelette: What do you say to women who experience inequality or have been silenced in church?

Pam: This is a very important question and one that I wrestled with throughout the writing process. Am I going to tell women to leave their faith tribes? In one sense, yes, I do tell women to consider the option of leaving their community of faith if their personhood is being diminished. Otherwise, we are training the next generation of daughters how to remain disempowered in the body of Christ. Yet I am also aware that every woman has her unique story, her unique journey and circumstances. I encourage women to at least empower themselves with knowledge and determine what steps they can take to resist inequality in their lives. I am a strong advocate for resolution rather than acquiescence, which women are such experts at.

Idelette: Did anything surprise you during the process of writing Unladylike?

Pam: I was caught off guard by the awakening of forgotten memories of times I’d experienced the sting of inequality. I’d be writing when something would emerge from hiding. It forced me to pause and allow myself to remember, to relive the discomfort or shame that I’d long forgotten. Some of those memories ended up in the book.

Idelette: Do you have a favorite line or paragraph from the book?

Pam: I have a few favorite passages, but this one was such a delight when it appeared during a writing session. I had fun crafting it:

“I tried hard to follow Jesus with my pleading prayers for him to transform me into a better person, into a good Christian woman. I was chasing a myth and praying for heaven to help me catch her. But I never did. Instead, I caught myself. Being me is the best fitting role I could ever imagine. I am not a good Christian woman. I am a Christ following human being, a unique individual with customized features that are all my own. I have been made in the image of God, my singular life a sliver of the grandness of who God is and what God is like. My femaleness is a part of me, but it is not all of me. I do not have to conform to the image of a good Christian woman; I want to instead, conform to the image of Christ. Jesus was not a good Christian woman either.”  (page 160)

Idelette: What is one thing you’d like readers to remember from Unladylike?

Pam: That we each need to determine our own story and how to resist the polite oppression of women that still flourishes in our faith tribes.

* * *

I have been engaged in the conversation (ok, more of a listener and a learner) around gender justice for quite some time. I have attended two PASCH conferences with its firm roots in biblical equality. I listened to biblical scholar Catherine Kroeger herself explain “headship” and what it actually means. I read my friend Danielle Strickland’s “Liberating Truth: How Jesus Empowers Women.”

Now I would recommend Unladylike to anyone who has ever felt diminished, silenced or less-than inside of their faith tribe, because, for me, in reading it, I had my own personal encounter–a commissioning, if you will–that felt akin to that of Isaiah.

In the commentary on Isaiah 6:7, one writer says this:

” … whatever obstacle there existed to your communicating the message of God to this people, arising from your own consciousness of unworthiness, is taken away.”

In reading “Unladylike” Pam has helped remove some of the obstacles I have felt in my own unworthiness. In an email, I told her this: ”Thank you for making an active stand against the silence, friend, because your resistance has now become part of my freedom.”

I pray it become part of yours too.

You can watch the book trailer of “Unladylike” here:

_________________________________ 

Questions:

• Where do you find yourself in this conversation around gender equality?
• In your own faith tribe, do you feel silenced and held back or empowered and encouraged to be who God created you to be?

_______________________________

About Pam:

Pam Hogeweide is a blogger and writer in Portland, Oregon. She has been published many times in both print and digital publications, including Christianity Today and Geez.

Unladylike: Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church is her first book and is available in print and on Kindle at Amazon.

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.

Photo credit: Katie Tegtmeyer

SheLoves Bubanza Project: Can Love Move this Mountain in Burundi?

This Valentine’s Day, we want to show what true Love can do. 

UPDATE:  WE DID IT!!! 425 women in Bubanza will now get their ID documents. If you still want to donate, any overflow will go to fund the ID cards for the men of Bubanza. #Together certainly moves mountains of injustice. Thank you so much!

-idelette xoxo

Last week we launched the SheLove Bubanza Valentine’s Day project. We are gathering our strength to give 425 women in Bubanza, Burundi, the dignity of an Identity Card. Until now, these women have been invisible. Even though they have their government didn’t count them as citizens. We have raised $4,190 already–only 76 more ID cards to go! We want to give every woman in this community this basic human right. Please join us!

Want to give an ID card as a Valentine’s Day gift? Download your own card (as pdf) here and print it at home. (It looks great on cardstock!)

Please GIVE and 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.

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 the women of Burundi.

________________________________________

WANT TO KNOW HOW THIS ALL BEGAN?

Here’s the original story:

____________________________

Doing our part for our sisters in Burundi on the journey from Invisible to Belonging.

By Idelette McVicker | Twitter: @idelette

I remember the moment well: Driving up Granville Street, three kids in the back of the minivan and Scott at the wheel. I read my friend Kelley Johnson Nikondeha’s latest blogpost about her and hubby Claude’s work in Burundi on my phone:

“Another beginning.“

They were starting another brandnew, God-sized (read: faith required) project in Bubanza, Burundi. A community with over a thousand adults.

I read in the hurried pace of the car, speeding forward through Vancouver traffic to catch a ferry on that Friday afternoon. Inwardly, I was willing a quiet moment … dodging as best I could the crescendo of kidlet voices in the car and steeling myself against the atmosphere of Rush.

I willed myself to be present to the words … to catch my Kelley’s heart. I wanted to be open my own heart to the big work she and Claude devote their lives to.

She drew me in with this picture of a little Burundian girl:

And then these words:

“This week, life for this little girl is going to start changing.”

Kelley and Claude (a native Burundian) have faithfully visited Bubanza since 2008. They started with a small community project with the Batwa people and saw it flourishing through hard work, heart work, commitment and tenacity.

“But Bubanza,” she wrote ”is big and the terrain is tough. Hundreds of families, poor land, no water and no hope. Some have tried to help over the years–helping with some houses, but not enough. Offering occasional food, but only for a few days. No one stayed long. So the situation on the ground in Bubanza really did not change.”

“Hardship was the steady diet of these friends.”

Over the years, over dusty visits, telling stories and much dancing, the people of Bubanza have become Claude and Kelley’s friends. Each a person with a name and a story.

By this time in the story, we were at the corner close to an old favourite Starbucks. For some reason, I was aware of my own place on the earth and it seemed significant as I read her next sentence:

“We will start by advocating for human rights – identity cards, birth certificates and marriage licenses for hundreds of families.”

What? These people–these friends of my friends–don’t have identity cards? No birth certificates?

I’ll be honest: The tears welled up in me right then, just as they are now, in writing these words.

I sat there in the car with my robust family and my own story and these words stopped me in my tracks:

No. Identity. Cards.

Kelley explained: “As far as the world was concerned, they did not exist. With no official record of their existence they could claim no rights, no representation, no residence or real home. For all intents and purposes they were invisible … exiles in their own land living in the shadows of Burundian society.”

I understood a little of what this meant. I remembered the ache of not truly belonging.

While my place of nothing could never ever compare to theirs, that season of my life gave me a glimpse into the cold walls of powerlessness. I remembered how dependency keeps you small and how vulnerably naked it is without a piece of paper to mark your own spot on the earth.

I understood the world of difference between having the dignity of an identity card and not having that seemingly simple, yet profoundly important piece of paper.

The tears were streaming down my face and I had to catch gulps of air through the sobs. [This doesn't happen that often, so when it did, I paid attention.]

Lord, what can I do? I asked.

Lord, what do you need me to do?

Lord, what do you want us to do?

I emailed Kelley and started a conversation … a thread of a hope. What if one day we, the SheLoves Sisterhood, could come alongside these sisters in Bubanza?

It seemed distant and foggy.

But I set up camp by this thought and lifted my heart in prayer.

Then, over the next two months, life started to change for the people of Bubanza.

First, the arrival of trees.

Then, desks.

And, in early January, I read another one of Kelley’s blogposts:

“Come forward and be seen!”

The first 120 women in Bubanza were holding their identity cards in their hands. I could hardly believe it!

The team had decided to make the women’s identity cards a priority. These women were now–for the first time–recognized as residents of Bubanza and citizens of Burundi.

As I read that last post, it struck me how just fast the Spirit of God was moving to bring hope, dignity and strength to the people of Bubanza.

It swept through me too and I wanted to be a part of this God story.

I emailed Kelley that night, late into the night. I fought against the voice that said I was being impulsive, but I remembered the tears on that first day, so I hit “send” and enquired anyway:

- How many more women need identity cards? I asked.

- How much does it cost to get one identity card?

Maybe this would be too big for us, I doubted. I had no idea.

I asked anyway.

The next morning her response laid in the palm of my hands:

“There are 425 women in Bubanza awaiting identity cards at the cost of $12 each.”

Twelve dollars sounded so … doable. I quickly did the math on my phone:

1 x identity card @$12

x

425 women

____________

= $5,100

____________

Our SheLoves/LifeWomen Mama Helen Burns also caught the wind of the Spirit and said, Yes! Let’s do it!

So, this my dear SheLoves sisters, is our Valentine’s Day project for 2012–a way to show deep, meaningful and real Love to our sisters in Burundi.

- Not the hearts and chocolate kind, but the kind of Love that changes a woman’s life for good. The kind of Love that can’t help but change us as we give to others.

So, my dear friend, would you please help us in getting the word out and raise the funds to get identity cards for each and every woman in Bubanza? We’d love to do this by Valentine’s Day.

Would you join us, please, in giving towards an identity card for one woman? Five women? Ten women? A hundred women? All the women? The whole community?

As I sit with our project–and this basic human need of our friends in Bubanza–I can’t help but be reminded of this: He knows my name. He knows our names. And He knows every one of their names. And together we have an opportunity to participate in this beautiful story of Dignity and Justice.

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 the women of Burundi.

________________________________________

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.

Upcoming Conferences & Events

 { for women with hearts + brains + hands + feet } 

We want to mobilize and empower women to transform our world. Therefore, every month SheLoves magazine will update our list of upcoming conferences and events for women around the globe. If you have an event or conference you think we should add, please contact us.

2012 Events, Campaigns & Conferences

Free Them: Campaign to Fight Slavery, Feb.

Here ‘s the Free Them 29 Things PDF to download: 29 Things

The Justice Conference: Feb 24+25, Portland, OR

Illuminate: Feb 24+25 (Youth) Victoria, BC, Canada

LifeWomen Conference: May 3-5, Surrey, Canada

Amahoro Gathering: May 21-25, Bujumbura, Burundi

She’s Got the Whole World in Her Hands

{Seeking Eve Monday}

“A life of freedom is a life lived with your priorities lined up easily and straight.”

By Christina Crook

_________________________

Alyssa Bistonath first cracked the pages on Richard Wurmbrand in her mid-twenties. A friend introduced her to Victorious Faith, a slender volume written by the author made famous by his first book, Tortured for Christ, the account of his suffering under the Nazis and, later, his imprisonment in Communist Russia. These stories of martyrdom changed her life.

“When we are young Christians we have these grand ideas of what living for God looks like. These books changed my life because it made God relevant by revealing the value in suffering.”

“Suffering is important because it increases your ability to have empathy, insight into a world that’s relatively unspoken about, which is your job as an artist.”

Bistonath’s work as a portrait photographer has enabled her to travel to the far reaches of the globe, capturing truth on film.

Born in Winnipeg but raised in Brampton, Alyssa’s fascination with images, narrative, poetry and pursuit of social justice are the guiding force behind her work. Since completing her BFA in New Media at Ryerson University, she has been recognized as an emerging talent in the fine art arena while her travels have led to an extraordinary body of work. Through World Vision, her main client, she has travelled to India, Ethiopia, South Africa, Mali, Brazil, Mexico, Honduras and El Salvador. To date, Antarctica is the only continent she’s never set foot on.

Back on Canadian soil, Alyssa is loud and proud about her hometown.

My Hometown, Your Hometown

“I have traveled everywhere in the world and I think Brampton, Ontario is the most awesome place on earth,” she says, settling into a late morning plate of eggs benny. This love has led her to her most recent endeavor, the creation of the “My Hometown, Your Hometown” photo project.

We meet at an eatery on Toronto’s west side called The Starving Artist before she heads into the studio to lay down beats for her band, The Royal Family’s, second EP. The irony of the diner’s name isn’t lost on this artist, who is first and foremost a photographer, second, a self-taught drummer.

“The developed world is always telling you are adequate and the developing world is always showing you that you’re not,” she explains. Her life, in work and on her collaborative Little City and How blog, are curated through pictures. Photography is how she tells her story, revealing the world and people she loves.

“Little City and How” is written by four friends. “They live down the road from each other, and around the corner from you. They love and support each other in a way that seems downright suspicious to the outside world … We hear the city speak in our loves and lives and want to collect it on canvases, put it in words, and wear it on our (shirts) sleeves.”

“As an artist, every morning you have to wake up and choose,” says Alyssa, bouncing my three-month baby boy on her knee. For Alyssa, this choosing means to not settle for the easy shot. When Report on Business calls her for a photo shoot, they’re not looking for a glossy, happy face. They know they’re going to get Bistonath’s trademark honesty.

In Victorious Faith, Wurmbrand writes: “When my eyes are opened, I say with St. Paul, “I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me”… Luther wrote: “I have to distinguish between myself and my calling. I consider myself as the smallest. But my calling is untouchable … Nobody should have a high opinion of his own person, but everyone should mightily praise his calling to the glory of God.”

“The months I don’t shoot are the darkest months of my life,” Alyssa confides.

It’s her calling to photograph: to reveal suffering, to unpack love, and she knows it full well.

In her own words:

Faith to me means knowing the truth about a sovereign and loving God, His son’s sacrifice, resurrection and, of course, what it means to live in the freedom of a trusting relationship with our creator.

What I mean by that is so much of life is steeped in fear, guilt and insecurity. Time wasted worrying or feeling anxious about the strangest things. A life of freedom is a life lived with your priorities lined up easily and straight. This is an everyday challenge, but we have an extraordinary God.

When I was little I was quiet, shy and mischievous. I lived through my imagination. Everything was filled with wonder and awe. My three older brothers were my heroes, guides and playmates who taught me the value of confidence, creativity and laughter.  I always had a sense that life was measured and memorized by narratives and was always excited to discover what my own story might bring.

My days are filled with long silences and loud bursts. For me there is very little in between. There are so many people to love. They fill my days and my heart.

I wish that everyone would find and live out their passion. There is a fullness of life to be had, and everyone is deserving of, by rite of being created.

The thing is there is so much out there. Seriously.

Today I give myself permission to listen to one song on repeat all day long.

________________________________

Would you like to add your story to Seeking Eve Monday?

We’d love to hear your story. Please share it by emailing Christina at seekingeve[@]gmail.com

To find words for your story, try following these lines, as Alyssa did:

Faith to me means [community / hope / food / sacrifice / art / etc] …

What I mean by that is …

When I was little I …

My days are filled with …

I wish …

The thing is …

Today I give myself permission …

___________________________________

About Christina:

Christina recently traded the seaside views of Bowen Island, BC for the banks of Toronto’s Humber River where she, her husband and two young children attend Grace Toronto Church. Her work has appeared in MUSE and Vancouver magazine, and is forthcoming in UPPERCASE, Geez and the Literary Review of Canada. She is the founder of SeekingEve.ca and blogs at www.christinacrook.com.

Six Degrees of Sisterhood

“Community is not just a group of people together, but with a united purpose, and at our best, it accomplishes the work of grace.”

By Jennifer Luitwieler | Twitter: @jenluit

It began unexpectedly, like these things usually do. I was hopped up on endorphins after a run, high on my own paltry running successes, confidently swaggering through another blog post about how running had transformed—transformed, people—my life and everything in it. My new friend on twitter, Cheryl, said with young ones, it was difficult for her to get out the door to run when she felt she had to do, should be doing mommy things.

I sent her a link to a recent post about how I was going to stop using the word “should,” because it connoted so much guilt and shame. She read it, then asked me to write a book about it, because, you see, unbeknownst to me, Cheryl was an editor.

But this is not about my fortuitous fall into publishing my first book. This is about how–as I wrote the book, and talked to other women, all over the Internet, I recognized a truth that always surprises me, even though I’ve seen it at work in my life for years: the strength of women in community.

As I wrote my book, and trained for various races, as I revised and edited and argued with Cheryl about grammar, I tweeted and wrote on Facebook. I read and commented on blogs and I found the most extraordinary women.

- I met Lee, who ran her first half marathon in a better-than-she-expected time.

- I met Emily who trained for and ran a marathon despite a failing marriage and the constraints of time.

- My friend Lee Ann decided to run a half and then a full marathon, coming back from a knee injury.

- I remembered an old neighbor, Dana, who kicked breast cancer to the curb and ran through some of her treatments, when she had enough energy.

- I met Aubrey, my soul sister, who ran a half marathon with me.

Not all of these women are runners, nor do all of them care to be. I met Beth, who loves me and knows me and texts me during Steelers football games. (She’s the only one I”ll talk to during games.) I met Suzy, who walks, and Katharine who homeschools five children and writes novels in the meantime. (She runs, now, too.) Melanie and Tasha and Kelly and Carrissa and Jenny invited me to join their merry band of Tulsa movers and shakers. I met Alise, who writes with joy and perspective, and Leigh who laughs, and Susannah who writes with soul and I reunited with Kristin, whose writing often parallels mine in topic, and with a depth I could never plumb.

Through Cheryl, I met Pam, who connected with SheLoves and whose first book, “Unladylike,” was released last week. Through Pam I met Idelette, who has done what we all have done—except in magazine form—curated a magnificent collection of friends-sisters-supporters who carry each other’s burdens. Through my publisher, I met Annie, who introduced me to Jennifer, who invited me to be a speaker in Austin about embracing the scary things God has called his strong women to do.

Some people think online connections are somehow as flat as the screen, as dimensionless as the pixels of a font. They think that without the luxury of being in the same room, something must be missing. I disagree. I feel a significant and strong connection to my virtual sisters. They encouraged me through the writing, through the races and through parenting decisions. This wired community is no less real, no less potent than the friendships in which hands can reach across the table for a hand hug.

Community can be anywhere and can take on more shapes and varieties than our limited imaginations can conjure up. Community is not just a group of people together, but with a united purpose, and at our best, it accomplishes the work of grace.

I am inspired to think differently, to love more completely and to pursue connections thanks to my community of sisters.

I wonder:

• What does community look like to you?
• Where do you find yours?

_____________________________

About Jennifer:

Jennifer Luitwieler is the author of “Run with Me: An Accidental Runner and the Power of Poo.” She lives in Tulsa, OK with her husband of 17 years and their brood of wild ones, whom she homeschools. She just registered for her first marathon and likes to talk football smack. You can find her website here, or connect on twitter and facebook.

Image credit: Jennifer Luitwieler, by Marleny Marsh, MM Photography 

World Map Pillow: Source: etsy.com via RosaMaría on Pinterest

When Grace Trumps Perfection

Confessions of a Far-From-Perfect Wife and Mom

By Angela Doell | Twitter: @adoell

It’s early morning and I’m curled up like a cat in my favourite place by the window, watching the sky crack open. I sip the first of my coffee, feeling grateful once again for the newness of the day. Heaven’s permission to start over. Fresh mercy. The Bible in my lap waits, open to Proverbs, but my eyes are drawn to the sky with expectancy. The shifting, fractured clouds promise light.

There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in. -Leonard Cohen

I’m relieved this morning to leave yesterday behind. It wasn’t my finest. The short story: I’d come home a little late from work, wearing the day like a tight girdle. I quickly shifted into Mom mode, pulled together a passable dinner, and gathered my favourites to eat. Sadly … within three minutes of sitting down something set me off and I fully and pitifully lost the cool I’d been trying to maintain all day. I’d interpreted a comment about the meal as criticism.

Tears came so fast I could only attempt damage control. I wasn’t precious about the food or especially offended by what was said–my emotions just hijacked the moment. Our dinnertime consisted of me pushing my food around on the plate and trying to sneak quick sleeve-wipes of my eyes and dripping nose while my family ate in silence and snuck sidewise glances, wondering if Mom was losing it. (I was, for the record. I was losing it.)

The rest of the night wasn’t much better.

I’m imperfect. My marriage needs attention. My parenting could use some work. Part of me really hates it when my husband and kids witness my frail, brittle, tired bits. I feel better about presenting them with my best performance. I dream of being unquestionably strong and capable, always fully present.

I could probably fake perfect for a while if I really tried, but my kids are so wise to me. I can’t hide much from my husband. What’s real, and what the morning sunrise reminds me of, is that the broken me is enough.

I’m a wife and mom in need of grace, just as they are. 

I’m sure today will hold conversations. Opportunity for redemption. My prayer is that my family will know my weaknesses as well as God’s mercy as we walk this thing out. I pray that as our children grow and inevitably experience insecurity and weakness themselves, they’ll know from experience that Grace makes a way.

God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
   his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
   How great your faithfulness!

Lamentations 3:22-23 MSG

Photo: Creative Commons

About Angela:

Angela and her husband Rod have been married for 18 years and they have two children, Madison (15) and Miller (12). Angela works at Relate Church in Surrey, BC. She loves finding beauty in everyday life and is passionate about communicating the grace, hope and reality of a living Jesus.