SheLoves Magazine

How to Run Away. Or: What I Learned from the Wizard of Oz

“It was okay that I desired to run away; I just needed to figure out what exactly I was running away to.”

By Ashley Mandanici | Twitter: @ashleymandanici

Last weekend I ran away. I am not saying that figuratively; I actually ran away. I purchased a plane ticket, packed my cute little purple suitcase and ran as far as my feet could carry me. Apparently, my feet could only carry me as far as Winnipeg, Manitoba.

I’ll be honest; it had been a hard week. No, “hard week” sounds too mild … Last week sucker-punched me in the heart. Yeah, that’s more like it. I was forced to confront some issues at home and at work that I wasn’t really that eager to deal with—and of course, if things are going to happen, they’re all going to happen at the same time.

I felt like a failure. I felt frustrated. And I felt fed up. And when you feel like that many “F” words, you know you need to do something.

I began to identify with Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I had this insatiable urge to throw all my belongings into a wicker basket, hop onto a bicycle and try and outrun the twister.

However, I couldn’t deny the nagging suspicion that by running away, I was behaving like a complete and utter coward.

“You are under the unfortunate impression that just because you run away you have no courage.”- The Wizard of Oz

On the night of my runaway, a rather wise friend called me up for a chat. As we were talking about our week (sucker punches and all) he made an off-the-cuff remark about how I had “run away” from my problems for the weekend, which followed with me confessing that that was exactly my intention.  This took us along a whole rabbit trail (or yellow brick road if you will) of thoughts ranging from Moses running away from Egypt, to Elijah feeling overwhelmed by leadership, to me trying to explain the entire story of the Wizard of Oz in less than a minute.

Meanwhile, my friend summed up our whole discussion with these simple words :

“Ashley, I guess it’s not about what you are running away from, but rather what you are running away to.”

Off to See the Wizard

I couldn’t help but think about Dorothy again and her quest to see the Wizard. I imagined her happily (and somewhat ignorantly) skipping down the yellow brick road towards the Emerald city. I thought about the characters she found along the way and how they all needed something—a brain, a heart, some courage … a home. I thought about how Dorothy’s problems still managed to find her—the only difference was that this time she was heading somewhere.

The more I thought about it, the more the whole “running away” idea began to appeal to me. It was okay that I desired to run away; I just needed to figure out what exactly I was running away to. I needed to figure out who exactly my Wizard was going to be. You know, just like the fictional movie character I had decided to base my life around.

Just click your heals three times …

The ending of the Wizard of Oz always got me a little angry for a couple different reasons. One, because Dorothy went through all that drama to be told that she had the power to get what she wanted the whole time, and because the movie ends as a dream sequence and I hate when movies end in a dream sequence.

I suppose my weekend ended pretty similarly though, well, apart from the dream sequence thing. (That didn’t happen.) However I needed to run away so I could begin to see “home” more clearly. My runaway put the colour back into my world when I was stuck seeing everything in black and white. My runaway gave my brain a much-needed rest, my heart some much-needed healing, and it also helped me grow a little courage. I was reunited with friends, drove around a new city and got lost a bunch of times. And I smiled so much my face started hurting.

I needed to run away to remind myself where I was going. I needed to run away to remind myself that God wasn’t some Wizard I could only find with the help of a magic formula. God had been with me the whole way. No heal clicking necessary.

And just like my friend Dorothy, I needed to run away to realize I already had everything I needed.

_____________________

My dear SheLoves friends:

• If you could run away to anything or anyone right now, what would you run away to?
• What do you need to find?
• Any other comments or thoughts?

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

Wellness Wednesday: The One Decision I Regret Most

“I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.”

By Tara Rodden Robinson |Twitter: @tararodden 

When I went to church this past Sunday, I grew a little tense. It was Mother’s Day and I usually avoid any public observances that include motherhood. It’s not that I have a bad relationship with my mom—in fact, quite the opposite. It’s that Mother’s Day reminds me of an inescapable fact: I am not a mom.

Just the other day, I got treated to big dose of all the mom-ness that I am not privy to. I had been invited to a mid-week happy hour–a drinks with the girls evening. I arrived at the bar early so I could sit and sip my wine in peace for a while, just to enjoy the sensation of having nothing to do and nowhere to go.

When my friend arrived, another woman rose from a table across the room to intercept her. I knew this was going to happen—my friend had told me that she’d invited others to join us—and I knew that probably all these other women were going to be complete strangers to me. No big deal: I’m good at meeting new people. What I didn’t know was that all the women at the table had kids in the same Montessori school. Yep, it was a Mommy’s Night Out.

To be honest, my non-mommyness didn’t phase me. At least not at first. The conversation didn’t revolve entirely around kids. We talked about other topics, like one woman’s impending divorce and her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s complete meltdown. And when they learned that I am a productivity coach, the group became positively enraptured, asking me all sorts of questions about time management and such. But then the dreaded moment arrived.

“How old are your kids?”

I paused. Swallowed.

“I don’t have any kids,” I replied.

Cue the crickets.

“Oh!” she said, finally.

I didn’t realize how truly awkward that moment was until a few days later when I received—no lie—a handwritten letter of apology from the person who’d invited me.

Damn.

Looking Back

It’s not that I never wanted children. I was just very ambivalent for a long time. Plus I was waiting for the right time: the time when we had a stable income and health insurance. When we finally got around to trying, I was 38 years old. It took me three years to get pregnant. And in my eighth week, I miscarried.

It felt as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I spent weeks doubled over with grief. And when I wasn’t howling in pain, I was in my office, working as usual, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. I didn’t (and still don’t) understand the shame that came with the sadness. Why should I be ashamed of myself? I hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet for the longest time, I wanted to forget that I’d ever felt that momentary joy preceding the horrifying loss of my one and only pregnancy.

My aunt, one of my mom’s younger sisters, tried to comfort me. The little book she sent told me, “never doubt that you are a mother.” Of course, I know this is bull****. Mommies have actual children. For me, no child equalled not a mommy.

Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to. There are many things about my life that I love. I have a lot of happiness, joy, abundance. There is only this one thing that is missing.

In Hindsight

I wish I could go back and talk to my still-ovulating younger self.

I’d tell her that there is never a right time to have a baby. I’d kick her butt and tell her to stop second-guessing her heart’s desire. And I would tell her to throw out her birth control pills and get herself pregnant.

When I look at my younger friends, the ones wrestling with the same ambivalence about being a mom, juggling the same timing issues and looking for that just-right moment, I want to take them by their shoulders and shake them until their teeth rattle. I want to yell, “When you’re fifty and menopausal and highly accomplished, the only thing that will matter to you is your family. Please, for goodness sake, have one!” If they didn’t call the cops first, would they get the message?

I wonder how my cocky twenty-something self would have reacted to such a visit.

I hope with all my heart I would have listened to me.

______________________________

Dear SheLoves readers, take a few moments to consider these questions:

• If I got a visit from my twenty years older self, what would she most want me to know?
• The heart’s desire I am second-guessing right now is …

______________________________

About Tara:

Tara Rodden Robinson is an author, coach, and educator. Known as The Productivity Maven, she blogs at tararobinson and tweets @tararodden. She lives in Corvallis, Oregon, with her husband and their two dogs. She is working on mastering complex yoga poses and searching for the perfect gluten-free bread recipe. When she’s not writing, coaching, or teaching, she’s out in the wilderness hiking and watching birds.

Senior Moments That Matter: Thank you, Connie

“I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father.”

By Daniela Schwartz | Twitter: @dannyschwartz
Today I want to tell you about Connie. Every month I lead a group of faithful moms on a visit to our local seniors home. We bring our young children and babies and the seniors love our little visits.

From our very first visit, I connected with the lovely Connie. She reminded me of my grandmother who passed away at a very tender time in my life.

Tender Years

My parents had just separated. I had moved away from my mother to follow my twin sister who felt obligated to take care of our father. My father was falling into a deep pit of alcoholism and drug addiction. It was a very lonely time in my life. We had moved to live with my aunt and her family. My grandma was the only maternal person in my life.

I was 10 years old. My body was changing; I was changing.

I desperately needed a mother, but found myself living in a very small town in my aunt’s driveway, sharing a camper trailer with my father. Not the big kind, but the kind you put on the back of a pick-up truck. My grandma and my sister felt like all I had left in the world.

Every night I sat with her in the living room. She told stories, tried to teach me French and had the most beautiful, pure white hair. She had brown freckles everywhere which she told me were liver spots. And she smelled like Oil of Olay.

She made me toast and coffee for breakfast every morning and filled my maternal void. She loved me and I loved her.

One morning I was up, getting ready for school when I heard her call out in fear. I ran to her room, but was brushed aside by my aunt. I peered in from the door. Something was wrong. My Grandma was crying, saying she couldn’t walk. She had had a stroke in her sleep that night.

About a month later my Grandma passed away. She was the first person I loved who died.

I felt shattered and misplaced.

At that point, I’d experienced more than one person should have to go through in a lifetime. Following her death, one of the most difficult things I had to do, was open my heart again. I had guarded my heart for years and it’s been quite the journey with God who continuously presents me with opportunities to love.

I didn’t expect our seniors visits to be one of those opportunities.

When I first met her, Connie seemed too sharp-minded to be in the home. She read widely and I even brought her books from home to add to her library. But as time went on, I could see the disease attacking her mind, started to win.

Connie started to fill a soft space in my heart, a place that stilled echoed with the loss of my beloved grandma. It was a place I had abandoned as a heartbroken ten-year-old, unable to cope with the amount of loss life had doled out.

This past Christmas we had our second Christmas visit with our seniors. We dressed in our best and brought special gifts for the kids to hand out. I had it on my list to pick up a book as a special gift for Connie. At my last visit, when saying goodbye, she mentioned how it had been a rough year for her healthwise and I wanted to do something special for her. Although I did not get around to picking up that book, I thought I could just pop in after our visit one day and drop it off.

On my arrival, the Recreation Coordinator quickly pulled me to the side. She knew I’d be looking for Connie and told me the news: Connie had passed away.

I tried to absorb the shock. Over the next hour, I bit back the flood of tears. I concentrated on decorating cookies, singing carols and looking intently into the faces of the seniors I had come to know … Suddenly I wanted to stop time.

When we came to the end of our visit, I pushed through the exit doors and let go of all the tears I’d been holding in. I cried off and on for the rest of that day. The grief was unexpected, but important.

I had been so afraid to open my heart again; to love and expose myself to the possibility of deep loss. But Connie awakened a part of me that was dormant and hurting, making me aware that maybe the things I instinctively avoid, may hold a key to unlocking the biggest miracles.

I now understand it is better to have loved and lost.

Visiting these seniors also opened my eyes to the treasure our elders are. I think maybe because of the loss of my grandmother, I used to resent old age and what it represented, but today, when I see a senior struggling with a bag or a door, I jump to help, not because they are helpless, but because it’s my honor to serve these treasures in our society.

For that I have to thank Connie.

____________________________

About Daniela:
Daniela is stepping into the role of stay-at-home mom. She loves Jesus, her husband and kids and jumps feet first into opportunities to serve in her community. Daniela lives by this statement, “Preach the gospel always, use words when necessary.” She loves to live life big and laughs a lot. She blogs with her twin sister Trinity at Lime in the coconuts.

Launching Global Mothers: Finding My Purpose in Another’s Dream

” … what began as an invitation to orchestrate my dad’s dream, has turned into an opportunity to shape my own.”

By Katie Mogan Graham

I spent the first twenty odd years of my life thinking I was meant to be an artist. It didn’t really matter what kind, just someone who spent her days making things beautiful (and being allowed to make her living quarters messy as she did so). I loved to draw and design costumes as a child. This was followed by a brief love affair with pottery and then a longer relationship with photography in high school. At university I decided to major in Art History (aka studying other people who made the world beautiful) and I worked at a gallery until I graduated.

The heady, idealistic phase of believing my papers actually made an impact on the world around me, ended abruptly as I entered “the workforce.” Braced with my best imitation of an “office outfit,” I spent three years trying to add beauty to my cubicle-d surroundings (and sometimes their inhabitants). I organized events, decorated lunchrooms, styled photo shoots, made elaborate presents for my colleagues’ birthdays, but still felt that my nine-to-five beautification project fell short of what I could really do, if given the opportunity. Convinced that I could do more, I ended up leaving my steady salary to start my own business dedicated solely to my love of fashion, events and beauty.

I called myself “the urban stylist” and spent my days cruising stores on Robson Street in Vancouver for the latest trends. I spent nights attending fashion shows. I enjoyed the freedom to plan my days however I liked, and particularly loved writing for local fashion publications. Still, as the months progressed, I sensed something wasn’t quite right. It could be that I had recently met a really nice plaid-wearing guy from a small town “Up North,” or maybe the massive pile of credit card bills were finally starting to take their toll. There are probably many reasons why this latest incarnation of my artistic dream didn’t work out, but the deciding factor was being asked to help someone else live theirs.

A Dream

In 2010, my dad asked me to help him a launch an organization that had been his dream for over twenty years. He had the vision and the means to support it, but he wanted someone with an arts background to get it off the ground. The idea was to create market access for impoverished artisans around the world. We would partner with development organizations to ensure wages were fair and profits were split between the artisans and community development projects. In addition to increased demand for their products, we would also provide the artisans with design ideas to appeal to North American consumers. I would be in charge of designing and choosing the products and creating our brand, an artistic challenge too enticing to turn down.

In the last two years, what began as an invitation to orchestrate my dad’s dream, has turned into an opportunity to shape my own. It’s not what I ever would have envisioned for my life, and yet it satisfies my desire to create and find beauty. I don’t make things, but I help people make them, and somehow that is much more satisfying. The women may not step off the pages of Vogue, but they are far more beautiful than any model I have met.

So yes, I could do more–support more charities, volunteer for more events, tithe more, give more time. I could also spend less on lattes, watch fewer reruns on Netflix, gossip less, whine less. I could do these things, but I’ve decided that my purpose, what I was truly made to do is to take what I love and use it to connect with others. I can’t delete my past, so I intend to let it continue shaping my future.

 Launch

Tomorrow, Saturday May 12th, we (Global Mothers) are celebrating the last two years of research and preparation by throwing a big party!

The timing is actually quite perfect as it is both Mother’s Day weekend and World Fair Trade Day–basically our organization in a nutshell. We are inviting everyone to come and join us as we share information about our artisans, their products and the work that the NGOs are doing in their communities. There will be live music, interactive drum workshops, songs and stories for kids provided by Vancouver mom/songwriter Sheree Plett, a whole kids zone with face painting, crafts and a photo booth, as well as multiple screenings of our short film, “Buy Good”. Everyone who attends can enter our draw to win Global Mothers products, as well as munch on delicious food prepared by the amazing ladies who run The Banqueting Table. We’d love to share Global Mothers Day with you, so drop by on Saturday, May 12th anytime from 12pm-4pm. Regent College: 5800 University Blvd. on the UBC Campus. You can check out our facebook page here or download our GM launch event poster here.

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About Katie:

I am that person who stays up late on Tuesday nights, watching kitten videos on Youtube. I am also the person who routinely eats milk duds and grape juice for dinner while watching said videos–information I don’t typically share with anyone. I am the happy newly wed wife of one lovely Northern BC fellow, who loves me despite my “endearing” quirks. When I am not tearing-up at the sight of kittens yawning in their sleep, I manage a non-profit, called Global Mothers. It takes me places I never thought I would go, introduces me to women I am honoured to have met, and challenges me to be more of who I was made to be.

Mercy: The Flowering of a Girl

“She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly.”

By Musu Taylor-Lewis | Twitter: @mercycanada

Have you ever watched a flower bloom? No, really watched a rosebud as it slowly opens up to reveal the majesty of its creation?

It’s incredible to see how much beauty is shut up into a rather small bud. Nothing of the vibrant colour is visible until the bud begins to open up; and yet all the beauty and all the radiant colour is already present within the bud. What that bud needs is the right conditions for it to blossom.

Over the last year at Mercy Ministries, I’ve had the incredible opportunity of watching a flower bloom: not a rose, not a lily, but one young woman who graduated from Mercy Ministries this week and is going out into the world with a colour and beauty that was not visible when she first arrived.

You had to be there … She came into the home with her arms crossed, defiantly gloomy, intimidatingly unfriendly. In my role, I mostly watch our residents from a distance and from that perspective, her manner made me wonder why she even bothered coming to Mercy Ministries, and whether she would stay. Residents come of their own free will and are free to go if they choose to.

But she stayed … and now, whenever I look at her, all I see is a flower in full bloom. She is friendly, straightforward, intelligent and thoughtful. Today she seems more shy than defiant, more curious than challenging and open to fellowship and friendship. I cannot describe just how much her whole demeanor has changed, in response to the word of God and the love of God’s people.

Watching her today reminds me of how the apostle Paul describes working with his friend Apollos to bring about change to people’s lives.

“I planted the seed in your hearts, and Apollos watered it, but it was God who made it grow. It’s not important who does the planting, or who does the watering. What’s important is that God makes the seed grow.”

I know for sure that God has done this remarkable work of blossoming in a young woman’s life. Mercy Ministries was the soil in which she was planted and God used different persons to bring her to full bloom: One person counseled and another planned. One person led worship and another gave. One person challenged and another was gentle. One person prayed and another raised money.

What is important is that this flower bloomed.

_____________________________

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.

Image credit: Girl in Garden, by Sean Carpenter

You Are Capable of Greatness

“I know there is a Da Vinci in Rwanda and an Einstein in Mozambique waiting to burst free.”

By Desiree Adaway | Twitter: @desireeadaway
________________________________

“You are capable of greatness.”

I have heard my grandma say it a million times: God does not create junk. When I was a child, those words fill me with such warmth. Especially when I was feeling shame for having told a white lie or feeling vulnerable during my ugly teen age years when I found myself lacking in almost every way.

I would hear her voice: You are capable of greatness.

The truth is, we all are capable of greatness. There’s a power in you, in all of us that can do for us that which we cannot do for ourself. THAT spirit lives in you. It is in you but not of YOU.

You are great and you know it. YOU know it. God does not create junk. We act like we do not know, but we do know.

We are capable of greatness.

We KNOW that voice deep within us the one that some days we have a hard time connecting to or hearing clearly. The voice that has guided us so far through valleys of despair and mountain tops of triumph–and always will. We act like we do not know.

Today I want you to own that you do know. You have known all along.

Rest in the knowing and in the anointing of your power.

Think of how much talent has been wasted among women and oppressed people throughout history because social conditions made it impossible for some rise and shine–for some to hear that voice.

I know there is a Da Vinci in Rwanda and an Einstein in Mozambique waiting to burst free. What would our communities be like if we allowed everyone to rise and shine. If we allowed everyone to shine, be beautiful, noble and true.

If we owned the wisdom deep within us.

I wake up every day and ask myself how can I be the woman that God would have me be today?Something and Someone lives within me who is powerful beyond measure. How can I tap into that Source, that sanctuary so I can believe in MY greatness and live and act from that place. The power that was in Moses when he parted the Red Sea lives within you.

So, do not doubt your ability to liberate and free others; to liberate and free yourself.

You are capable of greatness. My granny and my God told me so.

________________________________

About Desiree:

Desiree is a consultant, strategist, coach, speaker, storyteller and explorer.  She uses her superpowers–her voice, sense of adventure and belief in the transformative power of community–to help organizations design programs that create unrestricted revenue, volunteers and advocates.

You can find out more about her at www.desireeadaway.com, or follow her on Twitter at @desireeadaway

The Sound of One Girl Crying

“Ramona says the sadness inside is unbearable. Her childhood made her afraid of white people.”

By Kisa MacDonald | Twitter: @kisamac

 You know what it’s like, when a little girl cries. She sobs uncontrollably.

Tears overflow. Cheeks get soaked. Shoulders get all scrunched up. Her little gasps for air get bigger and bigger. But eventually, she starts breathing again. She remembers that somebody loves her. Tears stop. Life goes on.

Red-cheeked with fear, this one little girl asked quietly for her mother. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. Her teacher responded quickly. The little girl could not stop crying.  In a fit of anger, the teacher suddenly kicked her. She fell backwards, down a flight of stairs, and died.

Her mother came back to the school. The teacher told her: “We do not know where your daughter went; she ran away.”

Nobody knows where she is buried.

Sacred Story

Ramona tells me this story: a complete stranger, waiting to be picked up from the ferry arrivals lounge. She tells me that she saw the little girl fall, and die.  She was always terrified to cry in school, after that.

The dusky waves come into Departure Bay. While we wait, Ramona tells me a few more stories. It is hard to realize how this happened. Here. On the gorgeous island that always feels like home to me. Her words linger in the atmosphere, dancing between us like lights.

Ramona says the sadness inside is unbearable. Her childhood made her afraid of white people. Her voice shakes. She tells me of more rapes and beatings. I watch her, reflecting the pain and reality of it. She asks how healing is possible.

She wants her spirit to be free.

I feel a deep sense of awe at the tenacity of her life. Her courage outshines the sun.

Truth and Reconciliation

I know that her story is true. I have researched and wept over many stories just like hers. I have seen the black and white photographs. I have heard similar words, from different voices. Ramona told me her story, simply because it needed to be told. But her story echoes the stories of others. The Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission is providing a unique opportunity to speak and hear the truth about the experiences of aboriginal children in residential schools, and to seek healing.

Dusk comes, and it’s time to go. I lean forward and tell her how her words have touched me, deeply. I will not forget them.  I tell her it is time for her healing, and that her words have meant a lot to me.

When I look at her, the deep-setting sadness in her eyes hits me like a wave. Tears begin to stream down her face.

I cannot stop them from falling.

__________________________________

About Kisa:

Kisa completed her law degree earlier this 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.

Between Isaacs and Samuels: The Space Where God Disappoints

“What is the name of the space where God disappoints?”

By Enuma Okoro | Twitter: @TweetEnuma

God keeps tripping over my beggar bowl and spilling its meager contents.

So I am going to stop begging.

My heart is weary from begging.

I know why Sarah did what she did with Hagar and Abraham. I know how Eli found Hannah, drunk with the pain of prayer. Right or wrong, God disappoints. Me. You. All of us at some time.

Yes. God is faithful. I know of Isaac and Samuel. God Laughs. God Hears.

But what of the space between laughter and hearing, between Isaacs and Samuels? What is the name of the space where God disappoints?

That space is the place where many people dwell, where temporary settlements and makeshift camps start to take on the permanency of home. So what is the name of that place? I want to validate the reality of that place with a name. I want us to learn to speak openly about that place and to remember the people who live there.

Where God disappoints.

Where children are not born.

Where men and women walk one-by-one instead of two-by-two.

Where loaves and fishes do not multiply.

Where the poor in spirit or body do not seem blessed.

Where the faithfulness of God seems to be just a rumor.

Who are the priests that dwell with the people between God’s laughter and God’s hearing? What are the sacraments in the nameless place where God disappoints? If nothing else, I want the bread and the wine, the faint reminder that when the body of God was broken and the blood of God was shed, and the Son of God cried out words of forsakenness, that at one time God even disappointed God.

So maybe that is the name of the place–the long sad sing-song name of “Eli Eli lama sabachthani?”

I can live with that naming because it comes from the very mouth of God. Have you heard of that place? Do you know people who live in that place? Can you serve from that place? Can you love from that place? Maybe it is possible to set up camp in that place because I know that God has been there and whatever spaces God has been in, God somehow still remains.

And I know what happens after the Golgatha cry, after Sarah’s scheming and Hannah’s weeping. God moves from disappointing and invites us to new realities, new places where we shuffle our feet reluctantly, tiptoe carefully, uncertain if we can trust the ground, if we can move from pain to healing. Uncertain if we can trust the  God who Rises, who laughs, who listens.

__________________________

My dear SheLoves friends, I’d love to hear:

• Have you ever found yourself in that space where God disappoints?
• How have you met (or are you meeting) God in that place?
• What do you name that place?
• Any other thoughts or comments?

________________________________

About Enuma

Enuma was born in the United States and raised in Nigeria, Ivory Coast and England. She holds a Master of Divinity degree from Duke University Divinity School where she served as Director for the Center for Theological Writing. She is an author, speaker, spiritual director and continues to lead workshops and retreats on varied topics engaging the literary and visual arts, and spiritual disciplines.

Her spiritual memoir, Reluctant Pilgrim: A Moody Somewhat Self-Indulgent Introvert’s Search for Spiritual Community (Fresh Air Books, 2010) was a winning finalist in the 2010 USA Best Books Award and received the 2011 National Indie Excellent Book Awards Winning Finalist in “Spirituality and African-American Non-Fiction.” She is co-author with Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove of Common Prayer: Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals

Okoro’s new forthcoming book, “Silence,” will be released in Summer/Fall 2012

She blogs at Reluctant Pilgrim on Patheos about women’s ways of knowing and engaging the holy. You can find her online at www.enumaokoro.com

Image credit: Woman with bowl, by Justin Hubbard

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

___________________________

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

What I Learned from Fasting the Internet for 31 Days

SEEKING EVE MONDAY

Sometimes seeking + finding requires stepping out of the game.

By Christina Crook

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We are little gods on the internet.

Crafting and controlling our image on the world wide web. My sister and I joke that we should start a site called realmom.com where we do weekly photo challenges like: “Go take a picture of your toilet seat. RIGHT NOW.”

It wouldn’t be pretty.

And much of life isn’t. But it is real.

And, like our friend Pam Hogeweide recently reminded us, as followers of Jesus, we should be the most human humans of all.

In an attempt to put things in perspective I felt prompted to take myself out of the online game.

For 31 days I fasted the interwebs in all its forms. No google mapping. No email. No blogging, online news or Facebook. Each day I type-wrote a letter to my friend, Marisa, chronicling the journey.

I was seeking to …

• enliven my real relationships and filter out the extra
• open my ears to God’s voice and my eyes wide to the world around me, while the hum of my online life fell quiet
• remove my go-to time-fillers: contextless information via newsfeeds, Facebook and Google Reader
• challenge me to engage with new ideas, books, conversations, I’d tend to miss otherwise

Here’s what I learned in 31 days off-line:

There is something about the immediacy, the therapeutic clickity-clack of the typewriter that allows for a different kind of writing. The kind that spills from the heart rather than the head. The kind that’s intended for a single, known reader than a large, unknown audience.

Stepping off-line for 31 days got my hands moving, disciplined me to write every single day with or without a four-month-old and a two-year-old clambering about my knees. It was a luxury I could afford, being home with the kids and not bound to online work through an out-of-house job. But it was a sacrifice.

I had to say goodbye to my online comforts.

It made me feel small. It showed me I am small.

It taught me how to trust, that the world keeps on turning without my words, without my likes and dislikes.

It revealed the beauty of unplanned moments, reminding me that chance encounters beat out an online connection any day.

I learned that the smartphone check-ins I make multiple times a day are not actual time-savers but time-suckers. That if I, as a mama-of-two, want to engage with new ideas, read books, study, create — then I have to save up all of those two-minute, one-minute, ten-minute windows and bank them for things I really want to do. Like write poetry. Phone my Grandma. Skype my sister. Read The New Yorker.

I remembered that my children are watching and practicing every move I make. Word and deed. For better or worse.

I discovered the peace, the quietness of mind, I had been hungering for.

And I learned that snail mail gets people’s attention.

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