Chavah

Dancing Naked Before the Lord, Minus the Rules

I used to live my life by a lot of rules. Rules made me feel safe. I believed the legalistic lie I was raised under, that pain was always discipline, that when things went wrong, God was punishing us, or at least trying to get our attention. I believed as I was taught: that if I lived by a prescribed list of “good, Christian” rules, the Devil couldn’t get me. And then I saw people who lived by those same rules suffer horrible things.

I saw wicked people continue down a destructive path, with no visible consequences. I looked back at my own life, and realized that I had suffered more as an “innocent” than I had as a “sinner.” I saw kids, raised by “the book,” by parents who religiously followed “Christian” parenting systems grow up into wild, self-destructive people, or try to destroy themselves even as children and youth. I grew up without a stable, Christian family, and turned out just fine, indeed.

My world-view has been changed by reality. And though I believe that the actual Torah is a blessing, I also believe that 90% of the rules and expectations we put upon ourselves are unnecessary and even damaging.

Today, reality continues to perplex me. I see amazing, loving people get cancer, or suffer from horrific accidents. I see people who have spent their lives serving others end up living in chronic pain, or living in pain as they serve. And I’ve learned that, in life, there are no guarantees, save one. We are loved by a God who has a plan, and in general, I don’t understand that plan.

But I know that God set this mess up. He/she says so, in Isaiah 45:7:
I form the light and create darkness,
I bring prosperity and create disaster;
I, the LORD, do all these things.

Nature agrees.
The shark and the angelfish share a common maker.
The hawk and the mouse dance a sacred dance.
There is beauty in the darkness, in the wild, in the lethal.
It all reflects the Glory of its Creator.

We reflect the Divine, as well, and not just when we’re sweet and kind and “good” little girls and boys. We don’t just glorify and reflect the Divine when we run around, trying to look like a bunch of grandfathers, doting and judgmental, by turns. We reflect the Divine in our every movement, our every sacrifice, and our every Sin. We do not surprise God. Even in our rebellion, and or legalism, we are, inevitably, bringing His will to life. Even Satan answers to God. (See Job 1 & 2, if you doubt me.)

So, no matter what, God’s Will will be done, and shoving my squiggly self into a box won’t guarantee that my part in that big picture won’t involve any pain, or suffering. In fact, it is a sure-fire way to make sure that I suffer. A lot. Being crammed into an ill-fitting suit does damage to your body, your mind, and your heart.

How now do we live? For my part, I will love and be loved. That is what I know and understand of God, and of Creation. The point of it all is to grow, and to love.

I will Dance as David danced. I will not peer out the window at others’ wild displays, and feign superiority. I will celebrate with them. (Has anyone else notice that David, the beloved, the apple of God’s eye, was a skilled killer, and polygamist who danced naked down the streets of Jerusalem? David was not an accident. His words and actions are placed before us to show us the Glory of God.)

And this is how I will raise my children. I will reject and abandon every rule or requirement that makes me wake up in the morning and feel like a failure. I will walk away from any advice that interferes with my ability to look into my children’s eyes, and smile. Really smile, from the inside-out. I will enjoy my life, my husband, my children, and my work. I will spread freedom and love to whomever I meet, and I will set the captives free from their bonds of shame and doubt.

God is bigger than the rules. God is bigger than our sins. When it’s all said and done, God will have her way with me, and with you, and no amount of rebellion or legalism (often one and the same, IMO) will interfere.

So, join me in laying down all of the unreasonable expectations that keep you from loving the man or woman in the mirror. Stop setting the bar so high for your children that you wear a continual scowl. Stop comparing yourself to others, for better or worse. Look in that mirror, and see the image of the Divine, staring back at you. Say, “Thank You.” Then, move forward in Faith, trusting that the Divine light shining out of the eyes in the mirror is the same illumination that will make your path clear, each day.

Then, please, when your feet are free to dance, call me, and invite me to dance with you. I love a good party. Your life and mine should look like one.

Love Sounds Like an Alarm Clock,

and it Tastes Like Cherry Pie

I am loved.

Not the fake me, not the pleasing-others me, not the gotta-keep-my-game-face-on me, the real me.
The strong/weak, wise/fool, mother/daughter, sister/lover, sinner/saint, faithful temptress me.
The gonna-conquer-the-world, you-better-get-behind-me-or-at-least-out-of-my-way,
but-oops-I-got-glutened-and-I can’t-get-out-of-bed-today me.

The loud, the brash, the demanding, the commanding me.

I am loved.

I’ve been realizing it, little-by-little, for some years, now. But like a flood breaking through a dam, love make very small inroads, followed by streams, until finally, now, the dam has been completely washed away, and I am deluged.

I think the full reality began to set in when I interviewed a former 1%-er motorcycle gang member, and gained a true understanding, finally, of why my mother abandoned me, repeatedly, with various friends and family, until she was murdered when I neared 7 years of age. She rode with one such outlaw gang, and she was hiding me. We were owned, and I was old enough to be sold (Or rented. I never was. Not once.). She didn’t abandon me. According to the rules of her subculture, she had no right to hide me. She risked her life to save me. (There’s also pretty darn good evidence that she was undercover, or at the least, an informant, but that’s another story. Suffice it to say, I come from courageous stock.)

I was loved, from day one. I didn’t see it.

And this is not to say that people haven’t loved me all of my life. They have. But love bounces off of a defensive person like light off of a brick wall. Until you find a chink, nothing is getting through. Though, I will say that, over the years, more and greater shafts of love-light have shone into my heart. It’s been a very slow process, though.

That knowledge, that my mother had a picture of a motorcycle in her wallet, where I should have been, not because she loved me less, but because she loved me more, was a paradigm-shifting chink in my armor. Since that day, every kind word, every act of kindness, every caress has gotten through my thick skin a little bit more than the one before, and I am undone.

I am loved.

I’m not entirely sure how to live as a loved person. The weight of realizing that I have the power to hurt others with my actions and my words, simply because they love me, is potentially crushing, because I am not accustomed to it. I have wrestled with this responsibility, and come to the conclusion that there is only one appropriate response.

I must love.

And I do. Oh, how I do. And it hurts to care so much, but I wouldn’t trade it for the “safety” of my defensive posture. This love is empowering, and transforming. I will take and give back as much as I can manage, until my capacity increases, and then increases, again. That’s how love works.

Once, in High School, a teacher asked me why I complimented my own work. I responded, “Well, I’m certainly not going to wait for you to do it.” It wasn’t just that I wouldn’t wait, it was that I was the only person I believed. I knew that the outside observer wasn’t seeing the true me, the lonely me, the scared me, the nobody-wants-me me.

Friends and family have told and shown me how loved I am for years, and over time, I believe them more and more. I love them more and more, in return.

My husband has battered himself against my defensive wall for 13 years, now. He has made large dents in my armor. This morning, I think he tore half of it away. You see, I noticed a pattern, this morning. An alarm goes off, Aaron goes to the bathroom, and gets a drink of water. He gets back in bed, and pulls me close, to cuddle. Sometime later, another alarm goes off, and he gets up, to get ready for work. This morning, he grumbled about how he needs to set his cuddle-alarm for an earlier time. “Your cuddle alarm?” I asked, shocked. (I thought he was just “snoozing” his work alarm, loathe to give up his warm bed too soon.) Yes, apparently, he sets an alarm to make sure he gets to snuggle with me before he goes to work in the morning. Oh. My.

I am loved.

I got a package in the mail, today, that ripped through what remained of my shell. Yesterday was my birthday, and Heather, my cousin/sister (I grew up with my aunt as my mother after my own mother passed away. This fact, coupled with various other adoptions, divorces, and remarriages, has provided me with the most confusing family tree known in the history of mankind. All this for a woman who, until she gave birth to her first child, had no known, living blood relatives. But I digress.) sent me a present, which I received, today.

To give you some background, Heather and I weren’t exactly best friends, growing up. We had our moments of great fraternity, our moments of blood-drawing fights (she is very strong), and years of just trying to get along and through, accepting one another as an inevitable part of life. I never thought, “Gee, Heather really loves me.” But she does.

I know this, because of my weakness, and because of my vulnerability. I cannot eat gluten. Gluten is the protein found in wheat and several other, related, grains. I cannot injest even a tiny bit. I cannot breathe it, and if I even touch it, chances are, I’m going to suffer from it.

Heather owns the Pie Hut, in my home town of Sandpoint, ID. She makes amazing pie, amazing soups and sandwiches, and is, for good measure, a talented artist. I miss eating at the Pie Hut. I love her cooking. So, for my birthday, Heather contracted with a gluten free bakery to mix up a gluten free pie crust, filled it with her amazing cherry pie filling (no, I can’t get you the recipe), and baked it up for her gluten-intolerant sister: me. Then she mailed it to me, along with a pair of dirty tennis shoes. (Long story. By the way, Heather is a businesswoman. I am sure, for a price, you could get her to send you the most amazing gluten free pie in the universe. But I don’t think she’d throw in a pair of tennis shoes. Sorry.)

The pie was amazing. It was love.

I am loved.

I feel it in my husband’s arms, when he wakes up early, just to have the chance to hold me close. I touch it through my children’s lips when they kiss my cheek. I see it in the ready acceptance of my church-fellows, even when I start a business that could shock more than the ultra-conservative few. I taste it in fresh, cherry pie, when I had nearly forgotten that food could really taste that good. I read it in the comments of friends and family on my blog posts, and Facebook status updates.

I am loved. And to each of you, who has shone so brightly at me, for so long, with so much love, I say thank you for the tiny little rays of light I used to receive, and for the atomic blast that I now face. I love you all. And finally, truly, I am certain that I understand exactly what that means.

Thank you.

Delilah: Heroic Patriot

Delilah was a heroine. Kind of. At the very least, she’s a fantastic example of the power women hold over the men who love us. That’s a whole lot of responsibility.

Seriously. Go back, and read the story, again. It’s in Judges 13-16. Samson was a wicked, selfish, womanizing shame to his parents. He used his God-given strength for his OWN glory, and to seek vengeance upon HIS OWN adversaries. Rather than being the strong leader and hero he was created to be, Samson was all about self-gratification.

Then he met Delilah. And everything changed. Suddenly, someone mattered more than he did.

According to the record, Delilah never LIED to Samson. She wheedled, and nagged the man that had been slaughtering her neighbors, in order to learn the secret of his strength, bring him under submission, and collect a hefty reward. Each time he told her a false secret, she tried it. Each time she tried another method, she risked her own life with her betrayal. Personally, I have a hard time picturing myself being this brazen. I mean, can you imagine repeatedly demanding the secret of a man’s strength, when you’ve tried to emasculate him, time and time again? Shameless.

Delilah must have been quite the woman, because he gave it to her, knowing that she would use it against him. Why? Do you ever wonder? I do. Maybe Samson was tired of the nagging, and preferred prison to her arms. Maybe Samson was sick with guilt over his own pathetic character. Maybe the poor guy just couldn’t deny her anything. The story doesn’t tell us. Delilah’s motivation, as a Philistine woman, makes perfect sense to me, here. (Stop the crop-burning, Philistine-slaughtering foreigner, and collect a bunch of money? OKAY!) Do I understand Samson’s actions? Not so much. I guess it’s because I’m a woman. Notice that the story never once says that Delilah fell in love with Samson. Samson loved Delilah. Period.

And this love changed him, and changed the world around them. Presumably, it killed them both, because we never hear from Delilah, again. (“Good riddance,” my male readers are saying. I hear you.) You will notice, however, if you go and read Judges 16, that after Delilah humbles Samson, he becomes a man who prays to God to give him strength, rather than a man who assumes that the strength is his own to do with as he wills.

The story concludes by pointing out that Samson killed more of Israel’s enemies in his death than his life, and that he killed over 3000 people, including the Philistines’ Lords, or leaders in his final, suicidal attack.
So, tonight, I’d like to point out that Delilah was a patriotic, brave woman, who brought an out-of-control, murderous loose cannon down to his knees before his God. And like it or not, she was an instrument of God’s will in Samson’s life. Sometimes, a man just has to learn the hard way.

Constantly Comparing, Missing the Obvious

For men, Life is a Locker Room.

Are you a Show-er, or a Grow-er?

Think about it.

I’ll show ya LOVE! (This might hurt a little.)

Someone hurts you. What do you do? Someone cheats you. What do you do? Someone slanders you. What do you do?

Rolling over and playing dead is not the answer.

Standing up for yourself, and standing against abuse, whether physical, verbal, financial or emotional, is not a selfish act. Refusing to sit down, shut up, and go with the flow is not prideful. It is LOVE. Courage is love. Loving yourself spreads love.

When other people try to hurt us, in whatever fashion they choose, they are feeding an evil within themselves. Every strike hurts them more than it hurts us. When other people try to bully us into conforming, they are restricting themselves even more. The only way that abusive or hurtful people will ever be free is if someone says, “No more.”

Now, before you go quoting Jesus at me, let me explain. I am not advocating a “He hurt me and now he’s gonna suffer” mindset. “Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord, I will repay.” I am not going to stand between an All-Powerful God and His right to seek vengeance on my behalf. I’m not stupid. You shouldn’t either. Revenge is a murderous mistress. You don’t want to sleep in her bed. She will make you the evil you hope to combat.

But I see, over and over, Godly people allowing themselves to be wounded and cheated, because they are trying to “turn the other cheek.” Meanwhile, their abusers sink further and further into depravity. And other people suffer at their hands, as well. Because God’s people refuse to stand against evil, evil triumphs all too often.

No MORE!

If you’re allowing yourself to be a punching bag, stop it! Do you really think that your abuser is benefitting from your inaction? Is he or she becoming a happier, more whole person through hurting you? Is he or she learning to love and laugh and achieve true joy by bullying and slandering you? I think not.

For my part, I will no longer perpetuate evil by refusing to stand up for myself. No way. I will warn abusers (Oftentimes, they don’t even realize what they’re doing.), and then I will close the door, if I must, on hurtful people. If losing me is pain enough to drive them to repentance, then praise God. If a business cheats me, I will give them the opportunity to make it right, then I’ll warn people far and wide to avoid them if they don’t. If I am attacked by a man, he’ll never hurt another woman again, guaranteed.

The thought of allowing one more person caught in abusive behavioral patterns to continue in their depravity, without my doing whatever I can to put an end to their insanity, is abhorrent to me. I’m looking forward, to the next woman they meet, and I’m asking myself, “What’s my responsibility to HER?” It is great, indeed.

Have you spread the “Gospel,” today?

I have a really hard time with people who think I’m going to HELL.

I want to love them, I really do. But there’s a wicked woman inside of me that wants to smirk, and say, “See you there.” And I am a woman of Faith, who has been taught and believed in redemption all of my life. I am a woman who believes in forgiving others, loving them despite (or perhaps because of) their flaws, and turning the other cheek. I still want to laugh scornfully at these people.

Over the last few years, I have come to believe that studying and observing Torah, God’s law, is beneficial. The more I learn and obey, the firmer my conviction becomes. If you would like to read a list of the blessings that obedience carries, read Deuteronomy 28. There are curses there, as well.

I’ve been told that, by observing the “Law,” I have come under the “Curse,” and my salvation has been revoked. Wow. This message is always borne by people who live under a far more stringent set of behavioral standards than my own. (Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t swear, don’t dance, don’t, don’t, don’t associate with those who do!)

I do not obey Torah fully, because there are lots of things I don’t yet know or understand. I am patient. Meanwhile, I am not interested in religious systems that claim to provide the “how-to” on Torah observance. In my experience, they restrict behaviors that Torah permits, and justify behaviors that Torah condemns. I’ll stick with the scriptures, thanks. There is great freedom, there. In case you are a Christian, and didn’t know, the standard do’s and don’ts of American Evangelicalism are far, far more restrictive than Torah. And they vary from church to church, leaving C hristians in a constant state of confusion, debate, and comparison.

I don’t fully understand how it all works. I don’t care. YHWH says that his Law is a blessing. His people begged for it, offering themselves and their offspring to Him in exchange. I would do the same.

Freed from the church and its demands, my life has become a thing of joy. I am healthier than ever before. My marriage is happier. My days are filled with trust and peace, instead of striving and comparing. I am freer and freer. I know that God has my good at heart. I have seen the blessing that His teachings are, first hand. The biggest blessing is their simplicity.

“So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.”

Would you like it if someone told you that YOU were going to HELL? No? Then, perhaps we are taking the wrong approach.

It’s funny. I was taught and believed that “spreading the gospel” was the right thing to do. That handing out tracts at Halloween was an admirable act.

And then I became the one who was “going to Hell.”

And everything changed.

A teenage friend of mine told me recently about a mission trip she took to an inner city neighborhood. She and her cohorts put on plays, depic ting the “gospel” story. Afterwards, they attempted to converse with those who observed. “We’ve had plenty of church people come and tell us what bad people we are,” was the general response. These kids went, hoping to sow seeds of hope amongst people in desperate need of some good news. But the soil was rock hard, because others had come before; bearing hard, blunt words with which to beat the people down.

“Repent and be SAVED!”

“God hates FAGS!”

“You’re going to HELL!”

And we wonder why people aren’t lining up at the church door. And we BLAME THEM!!!

I’ve been on the receiving end of this “Gospel,” now. And believe it or not, it is NOT GOOD NEWS! Being told that you’re going to Hell by someone who believes that they have a ticket to enter where you cannot go does not inspire gratefulness. It makes people want to moon you.

You say you want to save peoples’ souls, and to set the captives free? Start by looking in the mirror, and into God’s word. Are you acting like Jesus? How many “sinners” are YOUR friends? Or, do you look a lot more like the untouchable Pharisees, following the rules? Are you getting “dirty,” loving people, or are you beating them down with your religiosity, convinced that being “right” is the highest good?

Did you tell someone they were going to Hell, today? Did they think it was Good News?

Stop Kissing Frogs!

and start kicking them to the curb…

Disclaimer: I am not a psychologist. I do not professionally counsel abuse sufferers. I have lived in abusive situations, and I have spent my life observing and attempting (to varying degrees of success) to help women in unhealthy relationships. I have a great passion to set women free from this epidemic, but I am, as previously mentioned, free from any licenses or degrees that qualify me to do this in a professional capacity. Passion, not profession. Experience, not education.  Since my experience has been with male perpetrators, and female victims, I will be addressing relationship abuse in those terms. I realize that this is not the whole picture. Once again, I am speaking out of my experience.

(On this note: If you are living in a domestic violence situation, you need to GET OUT. But NOT without a PLAN!  Please plan carefully. Get outside help. This article is essential reading for anyone considering leaving a domestic violence situation: Advice for domestic abuse sufferers)

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Our culture has lied to women. We have been told, through suggestion, lore, and outright lies, that we can change men. We women are, as a group, kissing  frogs, and waiting  to see the prince. Our romance novels portray women falling in love with rakes and scoundrels, and by virtue of their love, turning them into honorable men. Our churches preach that, if only we will submit fully, and be paragons of virtue, while remaining IN an abusive relationship, the man will change. Classic movies portray “good” girls turning playboys from their wicked ways, to blissful, lifelong monogamy.

Good luck with that.

I know abusers, and their victims. I grew up in an abusive home. I know what it means to live in fear of the next outburst, to keep track of the alcohol consumption, to hide in my room. I know how it feels for a young girl to encounter lust from the wrong quarter.  I have been the girlfriend who is thrown into walls for entertainment. I have started dating the strong, sexy man, only to learn, too late, of his abused ex-wife, and his ability to teach quick knife kills. I have left men that I feared would not let me go. It was worth it.

I have learned a few things through my experiences, and those of friends and family. Abuse is not your fault. And no amount of being “good” enough or “submissive” enough is going to break the pattern. I have seen women spend decades doing everything “right,” only to end up alone. Their promised “happy ending” for being such “good” wives never materialized. They just got hurt for a very, very long time. The status quo was reinforced and made slowly worse by the well-meaning preaching of a male-dominated religious institution.

Abuse comes in many forms, and it is, in fact a two-way street. If you’re single, congratulations! Single ladies can try to protect themselves by simply refusing to get into the relationships in the first place. In this day and age, I say that if he doesn’t come with a list of references, just pass. Better to be alone than a punching bag, physically, emotionally, sexually or verbally. I say this, knowing that I myself didn’t recognize the signs in the men I dated. And I DID decide to be alone, right before I met my husband.  It wasn’t until I refused to settle for less that I met someone worth spending my life with.

Meeting the “right guy” is not a guarantee, however. Aaron and I have had our share of difficulties. Our backgrounds and personalities conspired to nearly end our marriage, due to patterns of relating that HAD turned abusive. He had no idea.

And here is where I had to divorce myself from, not my husband, but my own notions of what it meant to be a good wife. I used to strive to be a good, submissive Christian wife and mother. When I had a problem with my husband’s decisions or behavior, I BIT MY TONGUE. (Almost bit it off, more than once.) When I couldn’t remain silent, I apologized more for daring to have an opinion or spark of self-respect, rather than spending my time explaining my perspective  to him.  My husband, raised as a “Nice Christian Boy” fell into his expected role, shouldering all of the thinking and deciding duties for both of us. Robbed of the other half of his God-intended wisdom, in the form of a clearly thinking and speaking wife, he made decisions that we both regret. Those decisions are not his fault, or mine, entirely. Rather, we share the blame between us, and with a culture and church that taught us how to, inevitably, fail at marriage and life.

He became short and critical under the pressure of bearing both of our decisions without my input, and full responsibility for the results of “our” decisions. He was overwhelmed, and temperamental. He knew I wasn’t happy, and he didn’t feel understood or respected.  I didn’t feel loved or accepted. We withheld ourselves from one another mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically. All the while, we appeared to the outside world as a perfectly happy couple. Perpetuating that myth, after all, is the duty of a good wife. Growing up with an alcoholic father figure had made me a champion at “keeping the secret.” (Meanwhile, I despised women who spoke up about their struggles, and/or sought help, thinking  that they were failing to be “good” submissive  wives.)

My husband’s  frustration with our situation, himself, and me translated into a pattern of criticism and occasional outbursts. Things finally came to a head when I began to seek a revolution in our relationship. He said he couldn’t change. In the following days, I couldn’t even look at him, or our beautiful children. I was horrified by the trap in which I found myself. I realized that if I left, I’d have to leave them all behind.  Under this pressure, I ran.

And we finally, truly, began to talk.
When I walked out the door of my house, leaving 5 of my 6 children and my husband behind, I stopped, forever, being  the nice, Christian wife and mom, who is required to be a doormat in order to obey God. I don’t believe that, anymore. And, for the record, I am abjectly sorry toward every woman I have ever judged for refusing to do the same. You have been many, and I am ashamed of my pomposity and naiveté.

In order to be a healthy half of a healthy whole I had to decide that I was willing to pursue health by myself. My husband could be part of the healing, or lose me. Faced with the choice, he chose to heal.

If you face the same choice, I hurt for you. I will tell you, it is a win-win, lose-lose proposition. Either way, you will lose what you have now. If you are in an abusive relationship, this is a GOOD THING! Even so, it is SCARY and it HURTS to lose what you know. It is win-win, because you will either a: lose the loser, and be free to regain your self-respect, or b: he will learn to be a better man, rising to the level you demand. Taking a stand against abuse, insisting on a healthy relationship, communicating, etc. is hard, because it MATTERS. You matter. Your partner or husband matters, too. He deserves the chance to become more, just as you do. Demand more. Become whole.

I’m rooting for you. A happy ending is not found in your circumstances. It is found in your heart. Know and love yourself.

Creating My Own “Big Break”

I know where I am. I can see where I want to be. Crossing from here to there is the challenge. I am that woman. I will live her life soon.

Life and people have taught me that, no matter how hard you work to become successful, in the eyes of the world, it will always be “overnight,” or “undeserved.” I have never once seen a successful person who didn’t have a crowd of people behind them, envying their “big break.” Yeah, right. Truly successful people don’t have big breaks thrust upon them. They break down the wall between themselves and their dreams with their fists, oftentimes bloodying themselves in the process.

But all of this hard work is done under the cover of darkness, in anonymity. While others sleep, the triathalete is out training. While others watch sitcoms, the PhD is studying. While others buy boats, the millionaire is saving.

And, I have learned that every truly successful person is more than a little bit crazy. They can see themselves and their world as it is not yet. They learn to see themselves as the person at the end of the journey while they are beginning. Friends and family may think they’re delusional. Still, they press on.

I want to learn from these people. They are beautiful. They are shocking. Their sacrifices and determination put a spring in my step, and a pair of gloves on my hands. I CAN make my “big break,” one sacrifice at a time.

I know what difference I want to make in this world. As I move forward, I see more clearly, each day, what it’s really going to take to get there. It’s daunting. But with each step I take, I get stronger, and as the vison grows clearer, I am increasingly able to handle it.

The journey, like getting up at 4:30 to exercise, is HARD. The steps, like bouncing on a diving board, are thrilling. I am grateful, each day, that I do not cross this chasm alone. I do not chip at this wall without encouragement. When I am overwhelmed, and can’t see the next step, I have people who come alongside me, and refuse to let me give up.

I have purposely cultivated relationships that make this journey one of joy, even when it’s painful. When I arise before dawn to strengthen my body, it’s because I’m accountable to meet a friend. When I sit down to write, my husband pushes me to finish and publish what I start. When I start a new business, I ask my friends and even strangers support me. When I study and research, I benefit from the knowledge of courageous people who have gone before me. My children love me, no matter what. My growth makes them proud to call me, “Mom.”

If others can see me as the success I am becoming, can I do less? No way. I am a woman of great physical, mental, emotional, familial and professional strength. I will improve countless lives through my writing, teaching, and counseling. My children will rise up and call me blessed. For now, I have quiet, hard steps to take, walls to beat down, and incredible people to cheer me on as I go. Someday, the crowd will point to my “big break,’ and my nearest and dearest will joyfully laugh with me.

Gossip Weaves a Tangled Web….

I’m in one of “those” situations. You know, the ones where, no matter what you do, someone is going to get hurt. And I’ll be at least partly responsible for their pain. I can’t stop this, because I didn’t start it.

I didn’t create the situation, but I am certainly not guiltless in it. The web of guilt is so tangled, at this point, that there’s no way to trace who is guilty of what. Countless people are caught in it, and one person is the spider. Problem is, the spider is caught, too.

So, we’re all paralyzed, strings of deception, misunderstanding, gossip, judgment, and pain holding us all together in a giant mess. Let’s not forget the strings of love, and friendship that are mixed in, as well.

And to get free of the bad, we are slicing apart the good. And it hurts. Hearts are bleeding. Relationships are crumbling. Loyalties are dividing, and joining together in new ways. It’s like an emotional massacre, and everyone’s a victim. Even the standers by. Especially them, because they’re guilty, too. When you listen to gossip, you are a party to it.

Dear friends! Please! Don’t speculate about others. ASK! Don’t betray confidences! Be discreet. Please, assume the BEST of everyone you know. Don’t gossip, and be immediately brutal about shutting up those who do. How I WISH I HAD TAKEN MY OWN ADVICE.

Because I was polite for too many years. And I took part in gossip, thinking it harmless in most cases. I only spoke up when I saw something so clearly ugly that I couldn’t shut myself up. I have gossiped, myself.

And, inevitably, I was a victim, as well.

And so here we all are, in a mess of broken ties, and blood. It’s ugly.

I want to turn away, and forget what I’ve seen. But it’s indelibly imprinted behind my eyes. I cannot.

But there is one thing I CAN do. Something that, perhaps, will bring some piece of beauty to the horror.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough, strong enough, experienced enough, kind enough, loving enough, or healthy enough. I’m sorry that I wasn’t what you wanted, or expected. I’m sorry that I failed so completely in so many ways. I’m sorry that I’m not modest enough, or quiet enough. But I’m here to stay.

And I am stronger every day.

And I am better every day.

And I am more experienced every day.

And I am kinder every day.

And I love more every day.

And I am healthier every day.

And I don’t care if I wasn’t what you wanted or expected. Because I am JUST what God wants. I’m JUST what He expects.

And I will continue to fail. But in doing so, I will succeed. Because I’m a fighter. I don’t give up.

And I’ll keep flaunting, dancing, singing, writing, and encouraging other women to be themselves, as well.

I sincerely wish that everyone could celebrate this with me. But in order to be free from the web, all of the ties must be cut, for now.

Please forgive me for my part in this incredible mess. I will never be the same. I pray that I will be better.

Are You Holier Than God?

Rape. Incest. Murder. Deception. Orgies. Witchcraft. Betrayal. Prostitution. Seduction. Manipulation.
Cursing. Unwed mothers. Massacres. Genocide.

…huh…? Oh, did I offend you?

Oh, sorry.  I was just reading my Bible.

Several months ago, I dropped the word “Christian” from my personal identity. I still believed in an
All-Powerful, All-Seeing God, and in my need for and adoption through the Messiah, but I could no longer see the Divine in the way I’d been raised, or the way I’d chosen as an adult.

You see, somewhere along the way, I had become HOLIER THAN GOD. And dealing with fellow Christians taught me that I wasn’t alone. I was shocked by me and my kind. I looked back over my life, and saw my own endless superiority and judgment, staring me in the face. I saw that 2/3 of the men that I knew who had been unfaithful to their wives had been not only Christians, but PASTORS. I saw that every time I chose a business based on the little fish in their Yellow-Pages ad, I was taken advantage of, or simply provided with poor service. I saw the damage and near destruction of my marriage, caused by my husband and I both wearing the “nice Christian” face, and not truly giving our whole selves to one another.

I saw that I had placed myself on a tiny, precarious perch, high above the rest of the lowly world. On my pedestal, I was paralyzed. I couldn’t save myself, or my marriage, but I could feel morally superior while everything burned down around me, and I prayed for Jesus to come Rapture me away from the mess I’d made. I couldn’t take a step in the   direction of my gifts and callings. I couldn’t take a step, period.

And when the stirrings of my heart, the Spirit within, said, “Time to become more,” I found that neither my husband nor I could handle it. We froze.

So, I made the hardest decision of my life. I did the thing that no good, Christian wife and mother, in my mind, would do. I dove off my pedestal. Actually, I drove off. I took the baby, most of my family’s savings, and a rental car, and disappeared. After 5 days of talking on the phone each day, Aaron came after me, and when we got home, we were a new creation. We were free.

Free from our “Nice Christian Couple” restraints, we began to really get to know one another. (On this note: Mr. and Mrs. Smith should be required premarital viewing. It’s better to be trying to kill each other for real, than pretending to be the perfect couple you’re not. No one can love a facade.)

And now, I am truly getting to know my God. Not the grumpy, judgmental old man who encourages protestors to carry “God Hates Fags” signs, but the All-Sufficient One. The Heavenly Father who is also appropriately named El Shaddai, or the Breasted one. Yes, God has breasts, and imagery in the Bible indicates that we are dandled on His/Her knee, like a beloved child. And nothing indicates that we are called to sit in judgment over those who believe differently, or who “sin.”

Freed from my religious traditions, I’ve been reading and reflecting on scripture with fresh eyes. I love my Creator, and my Messiah. I’ve looked at the Glory of the Divine in nature, and in the people who reflect the Glory of God.

I’m unsettled. It seems that, as a whole, Christians are holier than God. As I drive around town, I can point at each church or denomination, and characterize them according to what additions they’ve made to what the Lord “requires of Thee…,” or by how they differentiate themselves from the church down the block, by getting something “right,” that the other guys are getting “wrong.” (Did I mention that my degree was in religion? I LOVE learning the history and theology of different religious traditions.) When I let down my superiority and my legalism, I found that proper Christian behavior, no matter what your branch of the tree, is far, far more restrictive than Torah. I can study and attempt to follow Torah, and no matter how much I embrace, I am clearly more free than I was before my swan dive off of my “Christian” pedestal.

So, here’s what I DO believe. I believe that we were each made different ON PURPOSE, because it takes a spectrum of people and behaviors to reflect the fullness of God’s Glory. I think that, when we try to determine what’s “appropriate” for others, we’re playing with fire. I think that when we measure ourselves against others, we cripple ourselves, and hinder the Glory of the Divine from shining through us. I know that the path to true contentment and Joy is obedience, and that obedience is only possible when you push past your culture’s expectations, and ask yourself, “who am I called to be?” I know that Isaiah says, “I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the LORD do all these things.” If we think that only the sweet, and the gentle reflect God’s Glory, we are sadly mistaken.

Even in our darkness, we reflect the Divine. Just like the scriptures.