SheLoves Magazine

Dark is Beautiful: Learning to Love the Skin I’m In

“I want to give to young children the gift that was recently given to me: The color of your skin is not a cross you bear. It is beautiful.” 

By Lydia Durairaj

As a child and through my teens, I was often told I had so many admirable qualities that could mask the one undesirable one: my dark skin. Apparently, if I didn’t posses those “admirable” qualities, then the color of my skin would be a heavier cross to bear.

Accepting my “weakness” initially meant dealing with it the only way the world taught me. Education is an important tool used to bridge the gap between the haves and the have-nots in India. It also enables us darker girls to find our foothold in a society that undermines our value as a person.

Living in a Color-conscious World

When I worked at an inner city school in Long Beach, California, a young African-American student made the observation that she was black and yet, I was darker than she. When I returned to India to visit my sick grandmother, she remarked that even the U.S couldn’t “help me with my color.” It’s not easy to ignore these comments or the barrage of fair-skin propaganda in the media.

As I grew older, I learned to define beauty beyond color. Migrating to the U.S. helped with that process. It’s now been six years since my husband and I moved back to India. Even though I’ve embraced God’s mold for me, I still live and breathe the same air that is tainted with a preference for people unlike me.

For centuries, fair or light skin color has been a symbol of prominence, superiority and higher social ranking. An Indian girl’s marriage prospects have been— and still often are— governed by the hue of her skin. Skin whitening products today are a half-billion-dollar industry, with the latest products tailored to lighten even underarms and private parts.

Color bias crosses nations, ethnicities, races and socio-economic lines. The birthplace of colorism cannot be traced to a country or geographic region, but to the hearts and minds of those who have perpetuated this preference. Colorism impacts our thinking and our choices— whether we choose to notice it, disregard it or accept it.

Dark is Beautiful Campaign

The idea of standing up to color bias was introduced to me by a small NGO in Chennai that I now work for, called  Women of Worth. The director, a vivacious lady who witnessed the degenerating spirits of dark girls in the city, wanted to speak out against the propagation of fair skin supremacy. This gave birth to the Dark is Beautiful campaign, which aims to instill a sense of pride and comfort in one’s skin, no matter what shade of white, yellow or brown it is. 

The organization got the people of Chennai to lend their voice on this issue using various forms of artistic expressions like painting, photography, poetry and short story. For the first time,the words dark is beautiful reverberated in a public platform—not in the comfort of my mom’s shoulders or in the quietness of my meditating spirit—but in newspapers, radio waves, television news broadcasts, and social networking sites. For the first time, I witnessed people being challenged to shed their bias and value humanity.

The Gift of Color

For too long, I believed my skin color represented blemish, dirt and filth. Instead of waiting in the shadows, I should have taken my rightful place in school plays or family reunions. But I share an unspoken space and language with many other dark-skinned people who’ve hidden behind someone in a group photo, covered their smiles with the palms of their hand, and convinced themselves that they are beautiful— inside (whatever that means).

I can identify with children who struggle to comprehend their beauty and self-worth. In between hidden smiles, shy glances, and mesmerized looks of approval at the charming fair-skinned beauties, often lays helplessness, regret and shame.

As I continue to work with the Dark is Beautiful campaign, I want to give to young children the gift that was recently given to me: The color of your skin is not a cross you bear. It is beautiful. Our varied shades are expressions of our creator including and inviting us all to be his children.

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About Lydia:

Lydia Durairaj lives in Chennai, India with her husband and two children. In the coming school year, her goal is to help take Dark is Beautiful workshops to 45 schools and colleges.

This time, I’m running

“I’m running for the freedom and wholeness of our beautiful women right here in Canada, for the physically and sexually abused, the sex trafficked, the prostitute.”

By Sarah Bessey | Twitter: @sarahbessey

When you all ran the SheLoves Half-Marathon for Living Hope last year, I felt so ripped off.

Just afterwards, I wrote on my own blog:

I had a chance to be a part of something really amazing, to tell a very cool story of love and sweat and work, and I said no.

So much of life is like that, isn’t it? We feel a nudge, an invitation, a passion, a burning, a bothering. I once heard that if you want to know where you’re called, take an honest look at what makes you angry. If something makes you angry–an injustice, in particular–that is as good as an engraved invitation to do something about it. And oh, I admit it, sometimes I’m so angry about women’s issues (in the church and the world) that I want to burn down the Internet for every lie told to keep women down, to placate and patronize and neuter the strong voices of women, for every injustice done to our sisters and our own selves from the daily mundane lies to the violent abuses.

But we all have a long list of reasons for not stepping out, speaking out, writing it out, singing it out, running it out, confronting, praying, laying on hands, working it out, being bold and courageous. It’s risky. I might fail. People may not like me. I may irritate people. I might be called names or receive a bit more nasty email. (People don’t like it when someone else gets out of the boat, do they?)

It’s easier to stay home and write tweets celebrating the ones actually doing something. And even though I want to live boldly, speak truthfully, love madly, work for justice, sometimes when I hear the Voice, the invitation, I shrug, “Meh – I’m tired” and I’ll just cheer on the women and men actually doing something instead and convince myself that it’s enough.

I work a few hours a week for Mercy Ministries of Canada. Every year, we hold our main fundraiser, the Run for Mercy. And every year, I organize and plan, set up tables and lend my hand to the undertaking. I hand out sandwiches or sign people up at the registration, I write letters and recruit. And I love it. I love gathering together with the Mercy family, with our residents, our graduates, our supporters, our churches, our friends.

But this year, I’m running.

This time, I want to sweat, I want to hurt, I want to be physically there, every step of the way, my heart focused on the long journey of our brave girls.

My sister downloaded that Coach to 5K app on her iPhone, and she’s doggedly walking beside me while I wheeze and hobble around our small city track three nights a week. (I believe that runners call this “training” but that might be a bit ambitious in my case. My feet are moving though and that counts for something, I hope.) It won’t be pretty, but it will be done.

I’m running for the freedom and wholeness of our beautiful women right here in Canada, for the physically and sexually abused, the sex trafficked, the prostitute.

I am running for the drug and alcohol addicted, the broken, the hurting.

I am running for the anorexic, the bulimic, the depressed, the frightened, the anxious, the self-harming.

I am running for my daughters, for our mothers, our sisters, our friends. I am running for you.

I am running for our current residents, for the girls still in our application process, for the girl sitting there with an unfinished application absolutely terrified of change but more scared of staying the same.

I am running for our graduates, for our most recent graduates, Christina and Jessica, because all of our graduates are my heroes.

I am running because I believe that God has a plan and a purpose for each one, and that it is a plan for good and not evil, a plan of hope and freedom.

I’m running for Mercy because it matters for Mercy Ministries of Canada, of course. But I’m also running because, now I know, it matters to me, too.

There are three ways to support Run for Mercy:

1. Join us. Register here, recruit a team from your church or neighbourhood, volunteer or fundraise, show up on Race Day

2. Spread the word for us.

3. Donate or sponsor the Run for Mercy.

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About Sarah:

Sarah Styles Bessey lives in Abbotsford, BC with her husband and three tinies. She’s a happy clappy Jesus-lover, an advocate for Mercy Ministries of Canada, a blogger, writer and simple living/social justice wannabe. She blogs at www.emergingmummy.com and tweets from @sarahbessey.

Swimming Lessons with Auntie Ashley. Or: When to Step Out of the Boat

Do I want to spend my life guarding towels or walking on water?

By Ashley Mandanici | Twitter: @ashleymandanici

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Life Confession: I cannot swim.

Do not get me wrong, I have tried! I have tried, and failed miserably. Seriously! Never have so many swimming teachers at the YMCA been so disappointed with a pupil than they have been with me. “Back when I was a kid” (which is how I’ll start this story when I later explain to my children why we can’t go to the pool), they used to break the swimming class levels into colours, yellow being the first level. I failed yellow three times.

I say all this to say: even though the thought of swimming makes me want to throw up in my mouth, I love being on a boat! Few friends believe this because they know how pathetic I am when faced with even the possibility of having to swim. However, the truth remains: being on a boat is awesome.

I have compiled my own list of reasons why I prefer being on a boat, rather than actually swimming in the water:

-       Sitting on a boat requires no skill level or effort.

-       For me, the likeliness of drowning gets cut at least in half.

-       You can feel like you’re “experiencing” the sea without taking in the reality of it.

-       I have yet to hear about a person getting attacked by a shark while on a boat.

-       I do not have to wear my bathing suit, but am instead encouraged to wear a large vest that makes even the skinniest people look chunky.

These reasonings only work assuming I do not get myself into some sort of “Titanic” situation. In which case, I would succumb to the power of the seas, and wait for Jesus.

I regret to inform you that the number of friends I have who swim, outweighs the number of friends I have with a boat. This often means that as soon as the sun comes out, I resort to sitting on the sidelines during many social events. I have paid many an admission fee to water parks where I spent the day reading and guarding everyone’s towels.

“You were there?”

The other day I was remembering back on one of these adventures with a friend when she responded, “You were there?”

Um, yeah I was, friend. Don’t you remember coming back to your towel and your purse perfectly intact? Yeah, that was all me.

Apparently my involvement in our adventures has not been as memorable as I imagined it to be. This means one of two things: I need to learn how to swim, or I need to start acquiring friends with memberships to yacht clubs.

Shark-free and story-less

Apart from my literal need to “get out of the boat” and learn how to swim, there are many areas in life I need to take the leap off my comfortable, shark-free boat and start flailing around in the uncharted waters of Risk! I do not love the idea. What if I sink to my death? What if I look ridiculous (like a dog with two legs that can only swim in a circle)? What if I look chubby in my water wings?

I started thinking about the story of Peter walking on water with Jesus. You know the one—where Peter walked on the water with Jesus? (I know. I have a gift of making the Bible come alive!) I have read this passage of scripture many times, but this last time I had one looming question at the end of the story—what about the other guys in the boat?

I wonder if they were choked they did not even try to walk on water. I wonder if they knew that at the end of the day their part of the story would be as interesting as me guarding towels at the water park.

Sure Peter could have drowned, or been eaten by a large whale (it has happened) but he got his part in the story—an honorable mention at the very least.

Abandoning Ship

Matthew 14:28 “Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

In a little under four months, I am embarking on a rather exciting/frightening adventure—I am going to Uganda for five months to serve at Watoto Childcare Ministry. I am abandoning all of my ships—the financial security of my job, the safety of my country, the comfort of my familiar friends—and I am jumping into the water. I am kind of over being the girl on the sidelines holding everyone’s towels. I am going to show up … and people are going to remember I was there!

I cannot give you a timeline on the swimming thing yet. Hey Tina Francis, what do you say to taking up water ballet with me? You’ll learn how to dance, I’ll learn how to swim—two birds, one stone.

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So, my SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• What are some of the ships you need to abandon?
• Are you finding yourself on the sidelines or in the center of the action?
•  What is one skill you don’t have that you wish you did?

About Ashley:

My name is Ashley and I am the Children’s Ministry Coordinator at Relate Church in Surrey, B.C. My mission is to develop the God-given potential in every child who crosses my path *Insert Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love of All” here*. I love all things jazzy, particularly music, and I tend to break into song throughout the day for no apparent reason. I blog here and tweet @AshleyMandanici

ShePonders: Ruth the Moabite

Who are the Moabites in our community? Do we exhibit the hospitality of Naomi or the courage of Boaz toward them?

By Kelley Johnson-Nikondeha | Twitter: @kelljnik

I’ve always found Ruth to be a lovely person–kind, gentle and good to her mother-in-law.  I just never found her to be very compelling. From time to time I have read commentaries on the Book of Ruth in an attempt to connect with her–after all, we are part of the sisterhood. But still, this story failed to captivate me even a little bit.  Until I came across a new lens which reframed the narrative for me.[i]

What if Ruth is not just a beautiful story, but a parable meant to challenge the way we think?

Rebuilding

When the story of Ruth was first told, Israel was just hobbling back from the destruction of the temple and exile in Babylon. The Persians, after conquering Babylon, decided to send the Israelites back to their homeland in the hope that they would stimulate that local economy and increase the tax base for the Persian Empire. So, under the leadership of Ezra and Nehemiah, the restoration began–rebuilding the temple in Jerusalem and redefining what it meant to be a good Jew. What the Jewish community craved in the aftermath of national tragedy was certainty about their geography and clarity about their identity.

Now returning to the pages of Ruth, we notice something quite curious. There is a steady drumbeat; a word repeated so often that no self-respecting Jew could miss it: Moab/Moabite. The writer of this story does not let us ever forget that the story began in Moab; it crossed the Jordan into Israel with a Moabite in tow. As a matter of fact, the writer refers to Ruth the Moabite in each of the four chapters of the book. Again, we are not allowed to forget that the protagonist of the story is a Moabite woman. If you were Jewish at the time of the temple rebuilding, this would leave a rather bitter taste in your mouth. It is a lovely story, but why all the mentions of Moabites?

In their hunger for defining their new place in the world, the Jewish thought leaders of the day made one thing very clear: No Moabites allowed. 

According to Deuteronomy Moabites were not allowed in the assembly of the Lord, not allowed to ever convert to Judaism. According to both Ezra and Nehemiah, no Israelite was allowed to marry a Moabite.  There was to be no hint of Moabite blood in the new Israelite lineage and no trace of them in the temple. Moabites were the clear enemy during this time of history, and Israelites were making a clear line of demarcation that they were not allowed in.

So, you can see why Ruth the Moabite created a bit of awkwardness as they read this lovely story. But the real sting came at the end of the story, saying  “They named him (Ruth’s son) Obed; he became the father of Jesse, the father of David.” And again (for emphasis) the closing line is a mention of Boaz the father of Obed, Obed the father of Jesse and Jesse the father of David. Period. What a Jewish reader would have immediately heard, loud as a fire alarm, is that King David–the ultimate Israelite and most revered king–had Ruth the Moabite as his great grandmother. The primer Jew has Moabite blood running through his veins.

What does a good Jew during the Persian Restoration do with this story?

- Moabites were persona non grata in Israel–and yet: Moabites are part of the bloodline of King David.

- Moabites represent all the hostility to our ancestors–and yet: Moabites gave us the genes of a King.

- Moabites are bad, impure, pagan–and yet: this Moabite woman is loyal, hard-working and humble.

Amid the angry rhetoric about the unclean, never-to-be-converted-or-forgiven Moabites, comes this story that raises soul-searching questions. If there was no Ruth the Moabite, then there would be no King David. So, is intermarriage to a Moabite really the zenith sin? If King David, so passionate in his worship of God, has Moabite blood then can other Moabites worship with such abandon too? If Ruth the Moabite was such a good woman, then might there be others like her in Moab?  The story of Ruth becomes a challenging parable within the biblical story itself about how we encounter “the other” or “the enemy” as we seek to worship God with greater purity. It forced the Jews then (and us now) to ask hard questions about radical inclusivity of every “other” in our world.

Closer

Sometimes we cross paths with Ruth the Moabite in our community.  It happens when we listen to a story that upends our personal, inherited or cultural prejudices. When you think all the people on welfare are lazy–and then you meet a woman who gets food stamps, but works 12 hours a day cleaning homes to provide for her family and make her mortgage payment. When you think any woman wearing a hijab supports violent jihad–and then you befriend a Middle Eastern woman who shares about her hunger for peace in Jerusalem and desire to see her sons contribute something beautiful to the world.  Or you think all homosexuals are hedonistic and bent–until you have conversations late into the night about theology, the wild ways of Jesus and the joy of fidelity with a woman married (to another woman).

Meeting Ruth the Moabite and listening to her can redefine how we think of “the other” and compel us to ask good soul-shaping questions.

As we read the Book of Ruth we would do well to heed the story’s challenge and consider the Moabites in our community. Who are they? How do we treat them? Do we exhibit the hospitality of Naomi or the courage of Boaz toward them?

And one last challenge Ruth the Moabite has left with me: Can I envelop those radically different from myself into my very story?  King David had a bit of Israel and a bit of Moab in him, embracing enemies in his very flesh. Can I let “the other” that close–that deep? Can I recognize “the other” that is present in me? Richard Rohr wrote a book entitled “Everything Belongs.” The title really says it all. But I have been wondering today–can everything, and everyone truly belong?  Can I embrace opposites and others, seeing that they are within me and make me who I am meant to be in this world?

Now I find Ruth the Moabite to be a stunning story that compels me to think in new directions.

So, my SheLoves friends:

• What has the story of Ruth meant to you?
• Who are the Moabites in your neighborhood?
• Any other thoughts or comments?

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AUDIO:<<< ShePonders: Ruth the Moabite>>>

Click on the link above for an audio experience of Kelley’s post.

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[i] ‘The Power of Parable:  How Fiction by Jesus Became Fiction about Jesus“ by John Dominic Crossan

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About Kelley:

Kelley Johnson Nikondeha is co-director of Amahoro Africa and international staff member of Community of Faith with her husband Claude. She’s a thinker, connector, advocate, avid reader and mother of two beautiful children. Kelley lives between Arizona and Burundi. She loves handwritten letters, homemade pesto and anything written by Walter Brueggemann.

TGIF: Woman Thou Art Hungry!

On dunking goldfish in tartar sauce, Zen Elmo and finding my true hunger.

by Tina Francis | Twitter: @teenbug
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About four years ago, I got in a heated discussion  screaming-sobbing-snot-filled-straight-up-gangsta-fight with a family member who will remain anonymous–let’s call this person “Jo”–about finances (or lack thereof) and my futile attempts at looking for a job. After a month of sending out cover letters and resumes, Jo gave me a newspaper clipping  and suggested I apply for a position I was insanely overqualified for.

“ You can’t get emotional about it,” Jo said. “You just have to be a grown-up.”

I knew in my heart that if I did this particular job, I would start dimming my light, thinking small and believing that this was the best I could do. It broke my heart that Jo wanted me to settle,  didn’t want me to strive for more and couldn’t see why I was offended.

I started crying so hard, tears were pouring out of every orifice of my (upper) body. I grabbed my purse, car keys and started barreling down the street.

With one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand on my phone, I started calling my “lifelines.” You know, the peeps you call when your jeans don’t fit, your credit card blinks “Insufficient funds” and your grandmother is really sick.

After two unanswered calls, something in my gut pushed me to call Idelette, who was still a relatively new friend at the time.

Idelette has a secret superpower–I think of her as “Zen Elmo.” With two seemingly simple words, “Oh sweetie,” and her head cocked to the side, all mortals feel accepted, understood and smothered in love.

A Big Hunger

I sobbed as I breathlessly recounted the details of the fight with Jo. To clarify, this was not a drama-queen “I’m not getting my way” tantrum cry. This was a “I don’t know what I’m doing/ My life is a mess/ I have officially hit rock bottom/ I did six years of school and have no marketable skills/ I’m a freaking liability/ Does anybody care?” gut-curdling cry.

“I had to leave the house,” I told her. “If I stayed, I’d eat everything in the fridge and the pantry. I’d eat till I was sick, and then I’d cry because nothing I ate would satisfy me.”

“Oh sweetie …” she said. “You’re hungry.”

“No,” I replied, “I’m not hungry.”

“No, I mean, you are huuungry. You are hungry for more out of life. You are hungry to live out your purpose, your dreams, your passions. You are hungry to use your talents. You have BIG dreams on the inside of you. You have a BIG hunger you are trying to fill.” She paused. “Sweetheart, you are hungry!”

A Sick Heart

This was the first time I had heard the word “hungry” being used in a positive way. I’d been medicating my “hunger” on the surface but never acknowledged my real hunger, my real desires, that were thrashing around like an angry tidal wave on the inside of me.

Proverbs 13:12 says:

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.”

Good Lord, my unmet desires were making my heart sick.

Fast forward to March, when I’m talking to my friend Julie. Much like Idelette, Julie too has a superpower; she has an uncanny Yoda-like ability to look into my eyes and see the muddy backroads of my soul. I told her the story of the straight-up-gangsta-fight with my family that eventually led to my big moment of enlightenment.

I told her how I’d been learning that “being hungry” is not a bad thing and how I’d noticed a gradual change in my eating habits. I now ask myself, “What are you really hungry for?” before eating. I realized that I tend to eat even when what I really need sometimes is sleep, a hug, a bath or a phone call with a friend.

“Have you heard of Rachel Cole?” Julie beamed, “This is exactly what she talks about.”

What are you truly hungry for?

When I Googled Rachel Cole I was thrilled to find out she was having a “Retreatshop” in Seattle called “The Well Fed Woman.” The words “well fed” made my toes curl. It oozed abundance, acceptance and affirmation. I knew she was my kind of girl when I read the tagline on her website, “What are you truly hungry for?”

Rachel affirmed some truths I’d been learning on own my journey and taught me some new ways of articulating my relationship with food and hunger.

Here are some nuggets that resonated deep in my belly:

1. Identify your Primary Hunger.

One of the things Rachel articulated beautifully was distinguishing between your Primary Hunger and Secondary hunger.

She gave an example, “If you want a date night with your husband, perhaps the primary hunger is connection, physical touch, intimacy, play or communion.”

So on the surface, it may seem like what I want is to lose weight (secondary hunger), but what I really want (my primary hungers) might be unconditional love, or to feel accepted, or to feel at home in my body.

It takes courage to dig deep and unearth the raw hunger sitting at your core.

2. We can’t feed the hungers we don’t know. 

It’s like dunking a goldfish in a creamy tartar sauce, instead of water.  Sure, I love lemony mayo, capers and tarragon as much as the next girl, but that little Petsmart fishie needs water to breathe and live!

Soooo … [scratching head] when I’m watching Real Housewives of Vancouver, “just-to-see-what-all-the-fuss-is-about,” with a bag of Cheetos,  what I really need after a long day at work might be a hug?

So many times I’m the goldfish sputtering about in tartar sauce,  self-medicating with food, Facebook, Netflix, blogs or Pinterest.

I needed to create pockets where my true hungers could be made known.

Rachel says, “The practice of digging deeper is essential to being a well-fed woman. We must look under the covers, peel back the layers and expose what wants to be fed.”

3. When we receive our beautiful hungers, the “how” takes care of itself.

Once I figured out the hungers I was denying and misplacing, it got easier to make decisions that truly feed me. The habits that are right for me, may not be right for you, but here are some things that have really helped me:

- Before I eat I ask myself, “Tina, what are you really hungry for?” Is it food, sleep or a pee-break? Sometimes it’s a plate of good ol’ fashioned food. But every once in a while, I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee, when I actually want to shampoo my hair and read my new Joan Didion book in a towel turban.

- I don’t buy fashion magazines. They hijack my mind and make me ache for Heidi Klum’s legs and crave a Wendy’s Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger in the same breath.

- I still have a long way to go on this one, but I got rid of all most of my clothes that fit Mini Me.

- I surround myself with healthy friends who affirm me, but also hold me accountable when I need a reality check.

- I now receive and share wisdom. Three amazing women helped me find deeper clarity on the issue of hunger. Idelette first reframed the word “hungry” for me. I shared Idelette’s story with Julie, who affirmed my journey and pointed me in the direction of Rachel. Rachel gave me fresh language and tools to identify and connect with my true hunger. Now, I’m sharing what I learned from Rachel with you to come alongside you on your journey. See how this works? Karma baby.

- I read what God says about me in the Bible. One of my faves: “You are altogether beautiful, my darling, And there is no blemish in you.” -Songs of Solomon 4:7.

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We are hungry people.

Idelette is right about me, I have big dreams and a big hunger I’m trying to fill. While it seems so much easier to numb or ignore my true hungers, I’m learning that denying them leads to an unsatisfied, famished life.

I want to savour, delight and relish life. I don’t want to be imprisoned by insecurity, jealousy, exhaustion, criticism and guilt.  I want a better life, a life for freedom, for myself, and my girlfriends.

What would a world with women unified with their true hungers look like? 

In the words of Michaelangelo, (the orange-masked turtle whirling pizzas, not the Italian Renaissance artist): “Cowabunga!”

Mind. Blown.

Marianne Williamson says it beautifully in this prayer:

Dear God,
Please free me
from false appetites
and take away my pain.
Take from me my compulsive self,
and show me who I am.

Dear God,
Please give me a new beginning.
Unchain my heart
so I might live
a freer life at last.

Amen.

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So, dear ones, I want to leave you with some of Rachel’s brilliant questions:

- Today and tomorrow the hunger I need to feed is _______ .
- What gets in the way of you feeding your truest hungers?
- If you have a busy schedule and are really strapped for time, what is one way you could feed yourself in the shower, in traffic, in the kitchen, etc.?

Love you more than Coconut Mango Oat Muffins,
xoxo,
Teen

To read more TGIFs from Tina: Click here.

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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.

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.

Easter Monday: Today We Are the Marys

Today we are the Marys
[From our Archives]

By Stacy Wiebe

Today we are the Marys

We have been in turn
Pilate’s wife dreaming
Peter fumbling
Mother mourning
Judas regretting
Barabbas gloating
Joseph entombing hope.

But today we are the Marys.

Having sat at Your feet
and poured extravagant love
we came this morning
with the duty of spices
our hearts stone heavy
but willing to touch You
one last time.

Our entrée into the dark
was pre-empted though
by heaven’s glitterati
who said You were
death’s no more
and that we should run
tell our brothers.

Our hearts panted
we believed
disbelieved
then suddenly
You appeared.

Turning
remembering
bowing
we embrace
Your cross-worn feet.

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About Stacy:

Stacy Wiebe likes biriyani, books and things that grow. She’s lived in Chennai, India for the past three years, writing and speaking with WOW and other non-profits.

Mary Magdalene: Mother of Easter

“She arrived a simple Jewish woman. She left an empowered messenger endowed with a message for the disciples.”

By Pam Hogeweide | Twitter: @pamhogeweide

I’ve never been to seminary and I have no ministry accolades to showcase. I work in an entry-level job at a hospital and before that I was a professional cleaning woman. I have a family to manage and a household to run. There is no earthly reason why anyone ought to pay attention to anything I have to say.

Sometimes I think someone else should have written the book I just published. It’s an important message about the equality of women in the church, and though I’m proud of the book, I worry that my lack of credentials will stunt the reach I think this vital and timely message needs.

There was a sense of divine mission upon me as I wrestled the words out of my bones. I felt it was an important assignment, and though I struggled with getting the words out–one sentence at a time–the bigger struggle was believing I had something to say that others would take seriously.

This has been the backdrop of my story: low-paying jobs and domestic duties. Discovering my voice and my God-breathed power has been a long process. In the way of the world, a woman like me doesn’t become a published writer. Yet in the kingdom of God, there are endless possibilities that transcend my so-called station in life, for God is no respecter of persons.

This is probably why I love the story of Mary Magdalene so much. She was the first person to see and announce the resurrected Christ. This is especially significant, because she was a mere woman of no high standing. The resurrection of the Son of God is one of the greatest testimonies in history and it was entrusted to a woman. In her own culture, Mary was not permitted to testify in a court of law because of her gender. The temple was not much better in how they treated women. The religious and judicial systems of her culture did not recognize or affirm the worth of a woman.

Mary’s backdrop–the setting of her story–was to be born a female in a culture where Jewish men could be heard praying, “I thank you God for not making me a Gentile, a slave or a woman.” It was in this setting that Jesus came along and disrupted the story of her life. He flipped the script. He did not treat her the way her culture did.

Empowered Messenger

The Gospel accounts portray a Man who was counter-cultural in his relationships with people, especially women. This is so evident in the setting of that first Easter morning when Mary came to the tomb. She arrived a simple Jewish woman. She left an empowered messenger endowed with a message for the disciples. For this reason, the early church fathers dubbed her the “Apostle of apostles.”

Mary’s story resonates with me because it shows how God does not judge my life’s appearance as the world system does. He has no interest in sizing me up according to my earning power or blog ranking. God’s wisdom does not match the world’s wisdom.

Flip the Script

God chose Mary Magdalene to be the first witness of his Son’s resurrection. She became the mother of Easter. By the grace and will of God alone, Mary was cast into a role that flipped the entire script of her life. God did not choose someone of higher status.

I identify with that. I am a working class woman with no education credentials. I have no platform of influence to speak of and my social power is ordinary at best. I am no-one special in the realm of humankind, just another mom trying to balance work and home. And yet—there is the beauty of the “yet”—God does not assess me the way I assess me or culture assesses me. God entrusts me with opportunities to serve him regardless of my station in life, for God sees my full personhood rather than just my gender or intellectual prowess.

Mary did what she had been entrusted with. She announced, “He is risen!” to the disbelieving disciples. She told it true, she told it strong. The empowerment of Jesus surpassed the devaluing of her personhood from the culture and world system she’d been born into.

I am inspired by her life. She became an untamed woman who threw off the story the world system had placed upon her. Mary Magdalene began living out the kingdom of God within the story she found herself in.

She flipped the script. This inspires me to do the same.

I wrote a book. And I’ll write another. Uneducated working mom that I am, I have my own script to flip–for the kingdom of God is within me, too.

God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful. God chose things despised by the world; things counted as nothing at all, and used them to bring to nothing what the world considers important. -1 Corinthians 1: 27-28, New Living Translation)

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Happy Easter, my dear SheLoves friends! I’d love to hear:

• What inspires you about the story of Mary Magdalene?
• What is the backdrop of your story that you have flipped or need to flip?
• What keeps you from speaking the message you have been entrusted with?

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About Pam:

Pam Hogeweide is the author of the newly released book, Unladylike: Resisting the Injustice of Inequality in the Church. She lives in Portland, Oregon with her husband and two teenage children. You can find Pam on Facebook and on Twitter, as well as through  her website www.pamhogeweide.com.

Image credit: Early morning, by Andreas Øverland

RELATE with Helen: Holy Saturday

“How would I have felt and behaved had I been with Jesus during those days?”

By Helen Burns | Twitter: @helenburns

I remember the day I finally saw the movie, “The Passion, directed by Mel Gibson in 2004. I had been traveling in Europe the week it was released, so I was unable to go and see it with my family and a large group of people from our church. When I arrived home, I was compelled to go and see it right away, though I had been warned just how difficult it was to watch. I went alone and sat in that huge theatre with about six other people scattered around the room.

It is definitely the most impacting film I have ever viewed. I wept as I thought of the lengths Jesus would go to to show His mercy and love towards me and I wept tears of heartfelt gratitude for days and days following. The heart-wrenching visuals have never left me and some pervasive thoughts continue to stay with me as well. Often I find myself thinking, How would I have felt and behaved had I been with Jesus during those days?

Very early on the first Easter morning, the resurrection of Jesus had already happened, but to those closest to Him, those who loved Him the most, an overwhelming heaviness hung over their hearts and minds. They weren’t aware that a miracle had occurred.

Peter would have been heartsick following the horrific crucifixion of Jesus. To him, the hope of a relationship was lost. Guilt and grief must have overwhelmed him immensely. He could never have imagined that he would have deserted his friend and Saviour in His greatest time of need. And now He was dead.

I wonder how Mary Magdalene might have felt. The One in whom she found hope and a new dream for her future, was dead. She had known such shame and rejection throughout her life, but Jesus showed her love, grace and forgiveness. Perhaps He was the first person who had ever treated her with any sense of dignity.  And now He was dead.

A relationship that had transformed their lives seemed lost forever.

Close Friends

Between what we now know as Good Friday and Easter Sunday, were days of despair that paralyzed both Peter and Mary’s hopes and dreams. Their closest friend and confidant, was no longer available to talk to, to be comforted by, to be challenged by.

But it wasn’t over. That first Easter morning changed everything. A new day had dawned–Jesus is alive!

One of my favourite verses in Scripture is found in Mark 16: 6-7: “But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He is risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid Him. But go, tell His disciples—and Peter—that He is going before you into Galilee; there you will see Him, as He said to you.’”

These words captivate me every time I read them. Jesus wanted to be sure that Peter knew he was not a forgotten failure. There seemed to be an urgency for Peter to know He was alive and a future filled with hope and purpose awaited him.

I so relate to Peter. There have been too many times in my life when I have failed God and feel like I just want to hide and run from His presence. These are times when I find it difficult to pray, or be around a community of faith. I feel like a failure and ashamed of what I have done. But God in His mercy calls my name and wants me to know that He is alive and is always there for me. He will never leave me or forsake me. Never, ever–no matter what I do, nothing will ever separate me from His love.

And later, in the same chapter, in verses 9 & 10, we get to see who was chosen to be the first witness of His resurrection …”When He rose early on the first day of the week, He appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom He had cast seven demons.  She went and told those who had been with Him, as they mourned and wept.”

This is so beautiful to me. The one Jesus chose to encounter first after His resurrection was Mary.  Beautiful Mary, the one who had lived a wretched life until she encountered Jesus and was set free. I love that Jesus spoke to her first.

What a Saviour!  He came to heal the broken hearted and set the captives free. (Luke 4:18)

As we ponder the amazing gift of life and hope through Jesus’ death and resurrection today, I pray that we truly experience the extent of His reach toward us … He wants us to know His love for us whether we feel like we deserve it or not.

I pray that as His unlimited love touches your heart that you will extend your heart, your words, and your arms to others who are so desperate to know the perfect love of this magnificent Saviour.

A heart that has been touched by God cannot help but touch others.

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My dear SheLoves friends:

• Are there people in your life right now you can extend your hand and heart to?
• Are there people in your life who need to know that God forgives?

“This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. God didn’t go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right again.” -John 3:16-17

About Helen:

Helen Burns and her husband, John, speak around the world on the topic of relationships. They host the popular TV show “Relate with John and Helen.”

So, What Makes A Woman Strong?

“Is what we perceive to be a strong female really just what happens when a woman takes a difficult position, and then holds it? Or is there something more, deeper? “ 

By Kisa MacDonald | Twitter: @kisamac

7:05 a.m.  Facing myself behind floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and a ballet bar.

As I push my body into another thirty seconds of pain, my sleepy brain starts to wonder why I woke up so early for this.

To distract myself, I flip through my internal index of strong women. There is a long, long list of women in my life who are disciplined, faithful, and able to do great things.

I think about some of their lives over the past few days: at least two all-night hospital visits, countless family interventions, rethinking all her plans, moving into a new living space, trying to keep a job, wrestling for some sleep, finding good addiction counselors, balancing the bank account, battling cancer, taking that other anti-depressant, responding to special needs, adjusting to new pregnancies, writing that doctorate thesis, fundraising, and fighting over kids.

I could almost rip the bar off the wall–with all that collective strength. Instead, I gently put my chin up, press back my shoulders, and keep facing my own reflection. It is hard to look at my six-eh-um face, while trying to stay balanced.

So then the philosopher in me begins to ponder: Is feminine strength just an illusion? Is what we perceive to be a strong female really just what happens when a woman takes a difficult position, and then holds it?  Or is there something more, deeper? What does real, pure, genuine, supernatural strength look like? 

I reposition my feet. My mind keeps going: So, what does make a woman strong?

I begin to remember my own tough decisions and unpredictable circumstances. My muscles begin to shake. I point my toes.

I am not that strong, I think.

My body gives up. Being strong feels a lot harder than it looks.

I look around the room. All these other women look like they are more balanced, or at least more awake than me.

I remember my friend who is trying to leave an abusive relationship. She is struggling to regain her mental and emotional balance. Her days are hard.

I look around the room, again.

Sometimes, strength is hidden, elusive, buried deep.

Strength in Weakness

And then I remember something very true: my times of greatest strength have been found when I actually felt very weak.

What makes me strong, is my response to weakness – not just my own, but also those of others.

Those times of vulnerability, hopelessness, loss, pain or despair could be exactly the times when the strengths of who we really are come to light.

I realize I am standing in a room with an incredible group of committed women, who for whatever reason put themselves through the rigorous stretch and strain of this painful exercise.

I am reminded: Strength is gained among others.

Hanging a Painting

Five or six years ago, I had the enormous task of hanging a very large painting at the airport with Tracy Kobus, a talented artist from the Comox Valley. The canvas was massive, about twice the length and four times the width of my body. We struggled together, fumbling to get our feet and the canvas up the small ladder. Somehow, miraculously, we placed that giant piece high above our heads, angling it gently onto two very small hooks.

When we stepped back from the wall, the title stood out: If you don’t change, you won’t grow.

I remember that, and think. Growing in strength is like that. It takes commitment, challenge, creativity, and change.

I finish stretching on the floor. I had woken up just early enough to catch the dawn breaking out. And now, I need to begin climbing through a new day of obstacles.

We are all learning how to gain strength, in one way or another, through uncontrolled circumstances and endless things to get done.  For me, when I am honest and humble, able to be my real self, I know that no matter what I begin facing in my days, my strength comes from above and beyond just me.

I see the four ingredients of commitment, challenge, creativity and change emerging through the women who are standing along that early-morning studio with me. I see those same beautiful traits in the women who are reading these SheLoves posts.

So, my questions for you are:

1. Where does your strength come from?
2. When do you feel most strong?
3. Who gives you strength?
4. How is this strength given (e.g. words of love, time spent, kindness, etc.)?
5. What life changes or choices have you taken that have made you stronger?

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About Kisa:

Kisa completed her law degree earlier last year and is currently finishing her articling year at a non-profit that focuses on law reform, legal research and outreach. She grew up on Vancouver Island but has lived all over: North America, Southeast Asia and Europe. In this next season of life, she hopes to see creative community and access to justice established in Vancouver.

Photo credit: Pinterest via Amanda Yu

Bald Solidarity

“We think making a difference begins with making a statement. A bold one.”–Beth Roberts, Bald Solidarity

By Sarah E. Richardson | Twitter: @sarsrichardson

I was taking photos at a benefit concert the first time I heard Beth Roberts talk about shaving her head to fight injustice. She had long blonde hair and the most sincere smile I had ever seen.

Beth was sharing the vision for Bald Solidarity, a Seattle-based non-profit organization committed to ending injustice for women around the world through fundraising and social advocacy. She spoke of her time as a teacher in Bangladesh. She spoke of girls sold into slavery and given to marriages they never wanted. She told of widows left on the streets with nothing because they no longer had value. Then she talked about women in the Western world—so obsessed with beauty and appearance, so tortured by trivial decisions like haircuts and lipstick.

She said something that day that changed me:

“Hair is just a marker of our identity, and giving it up is our way of choosing to support women around the world who don’t have much choice at all. We think making a difference begins with making a statement. A bold one.”

I was hooked.

I stared at Beth, camera forgotten by my side, and wondered how I could ever shave my head willingly, yet also knowing that I was definitely going to do it.

Then it hit me—it came down to a simple choice: my hair or my voice. So I chose my voice.

Sure, shaving my head was terrifying, but I knew Beth was on to something. I could support the cause with my money and walk away unchanged, or I could support the cause with my hair and never be the same again.

The first time I shaved my head we raised more than $2,500 for a local organization fighting human trafficking. It was November and my head was freezing.

Inner Wonders

Everything changed that day. That was the day I realized the wonders inside of me were so much more important than what was on the outside. I’ve always known God had a better grasp on who I really was, because my heart mattered so much more to Him than my hair did (or my clothes, or my car, or my cell phone). But for the first time in my life I could see it too.

I felt beautiful and empowered—it no longer mattered that I was the single girl with the crooked teeth and love-handles who sang a little too loud in church, because now I was the bald girl—a little crazy in a good way.

I’ve shaved for Bald Solidarity twice and I know I am likely to do it again, because if I ever have a daughter I want to look her in the face and say, “Baby, we fight for what we believe in and we look out for others even when they live on the other side of the world.”

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About Sarah:

I’m more likely to answer to Sars than Sarah. That’s because years ago my brothers started calling me Sars and, as the name implies, it was infectious. I’m a visual journalism grad from Western Washington University and a self-proclaimed writer-photographer-Jesus-lover-painter-adventurer-foodie. I have a near obsession with ending injustice and I’m a sucker for a good cause.

I blog at sometimesscreaminghelps.com and tweet at @sarsrichardson