Neither Male nor Female

I decided to do something I haven't done before... I'm participating in a blog link-up. Check out the other contributions to Feminisms and Me...

There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female.

For you are all one in Christ Jesus.

Galations 3:28, NLT

When I was a little girl, I had a t-shirt with “First Woman President” emblazoned next to a drawing of a confident-looking Lucy, the little girl from Charlie Brown.

I wore that shirt threadbare, secretly believing that on my scrawny frame, it might just be proclaiming truth.

Just now as I sat down to write this, I couldn’t remember Lucy’s name.  A quick search of Charlie Brown characters led me to my answer on Wikipedia, but the description of Lucy’s character gave me pause.  It succinctly sums up my early-girlhood perception of strong women, the kind of feminist-in-training girls who believed they could be president.  Lucy is a “bossy, crabby” girl, reports Wikipedia. 

Bossy and Crabby.  That’s what I thought I would be.

It’s a little odd… I’ve always been confident, believing that I could do anything I set my mind to.  But at the same time, I’ve always been at war against what kind of a woman that would make me.  I didn’t want to be mean, crabby, and bossy, but in my small, Bible-belt community, I didn’t see examples of women in non-traditional roles who weren’t smothered with negative stereotypes.  I love my mama dearly, but from the time she was a high school student, she proclaimed her lifelong aspiration was to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, supporting her family from behind the scenes.  And her unique embodiment of her desire resulted in a relationship that at least from the outside looked to have absolute deference to my father.   I do not think her path was less or more valuable than other ways women support their families, but the fact of the matter was, it was the only example of womanhood I saw in my immediate family.  As a little girl, whether by intent or routine, my childhood church said the main way women could serve in the church was by keeping nursery or teaching children’s Sunday School; I don't remember women offering the communion devotional (something done by members of the congregation) or even passing the trays. The only female professionals I saw were teachers, and if women worked, the general social assumption was that it was an unfortunate reality for families who didn’t have what they needed financially in order for the woman to stay home.  Working women – especially working mothers – were pitied.   

It didn’t get better in high school.  Jacob and I were best friends in High School and started dating when I was a senior.  I cried and cried the day we decided to finally turn the friendship into something more serious… I only said yes to dating him because I didn’t want to lose Jacob, and at the time it seemed the options on the table were to seriously date or go our separate ways.  But I remember sobbing to my girlfriends that I didn’t want a boyfriend because I didn’t want him to “hold me back.”  He was my first boyfriend.  I have this vague memory of my dad being relieved I finally consented to dating a boy because it would “soften” me.

So I was the little girl who grew up wanting to be strong, but thinking that was a bad thing.  The little girl who thought there were two dirty words that started with F – One with 4 letters, and one spelled f-e-m-i-n-i-s-t. 

To be honest I’ve lived with this tension and confusion for 30 years, feeling like my drive and determination and opinions were generally unfit for my gender... and if I just kept trying hard enough, maybe eventually I’d be a better woman.  If I didn’t have slightly rebellious tendencies, I’d probably have given up on the idea that a woman of faith could do anything other than quietly submit to our local cultural expectations of what it means to be a “Good Christian Woman” and joined the ranks of those who thought anyone who talked about women’s rights or liberation was a bra-burning, man-hating, children-scorning degradation of God’s perfect plan for the daughters of Eve.

Motherhood has changed me.  (Which is ironic, because currently I'm a stay-at-home mama in conservative West Texas who is thankful for the opportunity to be with my little one day in and day out.)

But I think becoming a mama to a little girl has made me more of a feminist than I ever was, and I no longer think I’m being rebellious or foolish or bossy or crabby.  I’m not being Lucy.  I’m being Carrie.

God has given me a daughter, and I believe in the unique power of her femininity. And through that experience, I am starting to see the truth that’s always been within myself… that I’m a daughter of the King, uniquely equipped for ministry in this broken world – not crippled by my femininity, but rather strengthened by it.  My conservative community may have suggested feminists were brazen and aggressive, but now I see my strength isn’t in my brazenness, but it isn’t in my silence either.  My strength isn’t in my aggression, but it isn’t in my submission either. 

My strength is in knowing that I have been called for a purpose in His Kingdom… following in His footsteps, I’m to bind up the brokenhearted, and as I’ve become a mama, I think I’m better equipped for that than ever before. 

The callings God has given me… a passion for justice, a heart for the refugee, a burden for orphans, a seer of good things in those who think they are worthless – those have a place at the Table, and the fact that I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m less equipped to meet them than my male counterpart. 

We talk about the Father’s power and strength and glory.  But the gifts He’s given me come straight from His heart too… gentleness, compassion, mercy.  These aren’t distinctly masculine vs. feminine traits; please don’t think that I’m saying all men are powerful and strong and all women are compassionate and gentle.  But in a Christian culture that elevates certain virtues as “manly” and certain virtues as “feminine,” and then proceeds to tell women that their virtues can be best expressed (some would say only expressed) behind closed doors in the service of their families and as their husband’s “help mates,” is it any surprise that the dominant image of the Christian community as perceived by outsiders is one of dominance, power, and unyielding authority?

Undoubtedly this world needs to know the Father’s Heart.  But in a culture where His people are often seen as harsh and cold, judgmental and stoic, and in a generation where that mirrors the way many fathers treated their children, is it any wonder that we have such misconceptions about what His heart may look like?  I think it is time that we know the Father’s Mama-Heart, too.  And as I look around at a new generation of women – confident in the gifts God has given them, and bearing light and love in their homes, communities, and worlds, I’m beginning to see new currents of compassion, grace, mercy and  gentleness come alive.  It’s always been a part of His heart, but when mama-hearted-women step into their calling, I believe it unveils the Father in new and vibrant ways. 

I want to be a part of this unveiling.  I want my little girl to always see Him -- and herself -- clearly.  We’ve choosen a female pediatrician and we’re going to a church with women on the pastoral staff.  I’ve wanted these things for her because I want her to see examples of strong women in all walks of life from her earliest days.  I want her to discover her calling and not see her gender as a help or hindrance to achieving it.  I don’t want her to elevate or denigrate her (or anyone else’s) potential and purpose based on their gender.  I want to tell her that yes, she can be president someday (actually, she can’t – she was born in China), but she can do it with compassion and grace.  She doesn’t have to be bossy and crabby – that isn’t what being a Daughter of the King looks like.  That isn’t what being a feminist looks like… You know, maybe in the end, she won’t even need to be a feminist. 

Maybe she can just be what we’re all supposed to be… a Child of God, uniquely equipped and called to unleash love in a broken world.

Into the Wind

Sweet Girl,

Sometimes it seems the world is all black and gray and harsh.  Sort of like this windy West Texas day we had today - dirt blows in your eyes and you can't see clearly.  It stings when it hits your skin.  But you laughed, didn't you?  You laughed when the wind nearly knocked you over.  You squinted your eyes to block out the grime, and you smiled wide and laughed at its blustery gall. 

That's what I always want for you.  When the world is black and gray and blowing dirt and grime into your face, I want to see your brave, beautiful smile.  I want to see you square your shoulders and walk head-on into the wind, trusting in the power of Love to root you down. 

Sometimes I listen to the stories on the news and my heart sinks as I think about the world you are inheriting. Violence as entertainment, death in every leading news story, guns in elementary schools, debt that boggles the mind, people selling their babies, women trafficked into unspeakable horror, wars and rumors of war... I look at you and wonder how can I help you navigate this troubled world? How can I help you become a ferociously wild lover of people? An unstoppable bearer of grace? Am I really willing to tell you that you should risk all for the sake of Love?

There's not much I know for sure.  In fact, the older I get, the less I think I'm truly certain of.  Life is too complex.  There are no easy answers to the hardest of questions, and I don't want to give easy answers to you.  "You get what you deserve." (Except when you are born a woman in most of the world, then you get endless sorrows.)   "Jesus has a beautiful plan for our futures."  (Except for the Somalian baby who dies tonight of hunger.)   No, these answers don't hold water in a world as broken as ours.  The only thing I know for sure -- really the only thing you need to ever know -- is that God loves you fiercely, ferociously, wildly.  Just like He loves all His children all over the world, including the ones in Syrian refugee camps and Afghani women's prisons. 

There is a lot of blackness and harshness.  A lot of evil.  But that's where we come in, little one.  We are Kingdom-Bearers.  We are Love Warriors.  We are Peace Spreaders.  We are the hands and the feet; the bringers of Good News.  Some might say we have bleeding-hearts, but child, those are the strongest hearts of all.  Someday you'll probably hear that God leaves some of his creation to destruction, a rightful fate for a rebellious and stiff-necked people.  Sweetheart, that is not the God that I know.  I know a Father who seeks out each of his children, from every tribe and every nation... When they weep, he weeps.  When they rejoice, he rejoices.  He loves them as fiercely, ferociously, and wildly as he loves you.  And he's given us a singular task: to spread the good news with our love. 

It's going to require bravery, little one.  More bravery of you than I think I can bear.  I'm a mama, so of course I want you to be safe and comfortable.  But really, I just want you to love with abandon, even if that might mean that your life takes you down a dangerous, dirty road.  When that wind starts blowing and the dust starts flying, lean in to your Abba.  His arms - like your Daddy's - are strong and able to carry you through the storm.  When you aren't sure of anything else, just hug him.  It's enough, I promise. 

Just follow him, sweet girl.  He only asks us to follow.

Love, Mama

Awake

It's been a while since I sat down at these keys.  How do mamas find the time to write?  Just when my mind is finally quiet enough to find it's voice, she comes in with a new request.  Another day dawns, another day closes.  Laundry piles sorted, washed, folded, put away.  Dishes scrubbed, dried, scrubbed again.  But no real chance to find my voice... sigh.

I've been thinking about 2013.  I haven't forgotten about my Word of the Year, and though it is really didn't take me 29 days to find it, it has taken me 29 days to type it out. 

I want to be awake in 2013.

Awake to the sound of her laughter, and the way her front tooth juts ever-so-slightly in front of its neighbor to make room for new ones coming in.  These days are short.  A new mark on the height board and a couple more pounds make my arms ache.  She's literally changing before my very eyes.  I don't want to miss it because I'm distracted by Facebook or a text from a friend. 

Awake to the sound of the mourning doves, soothing song mixing with the twinkle of the neighbor's wind chimes drift in through the open door.  I want to make this home of mine a place of comfort and rest for all who enter.  The world can be an angry and frightening place, but my home can be a refuge... a haven on Blue Haven.  I want guests to feel peaceful, joyful, and hopeful.  I want to be intentional in welcoming people to my table and making them feel at home.

Awake to my husband.  Intentional about loving him.  Intentional about serving him... not because I'm trying harder to submit, but because I want to love him more.  Because I'm thankful for the ways he serves us.  How thankful I am that he's a Dada who comes home as soon as his work is done.  Who wrestles on the floor with our daughter and who cleans up the dishes after dinner.  He is so good to us; we are so blessed.  I want to show him how deeply he's loved.

Awake to my neighbors.  The woman bagging my groceries is from Iraq.  The woman rolling the sushi is from Burma.  Their stories are invisible behind their mundane jobs, and sometimes I confess I hardly notice them at all... but what journey have they been on to bring them to this dusty West Texas desert?  Are they lonely?  Are they confused by this odd culture of ours?  Do they need a friend?  How many times have I failed to see them in a hurried effort to get the next "To Do" checked off my list?  I want to wake up and welcome the stranger in my midst.

Awake to my world.  I am slowly realizing that I can be the mama Cora needs me to be, the wife Jacob deserves me to be, and the woman God made me to be.  One doesn't need to be shelved to achieve the other.  I realize I might not be able to move to sub-Saharan Africa with the Peace Corps in this season of my life, but I can find ways to be a bearer of good news to this crazy-beautiful-broken world.  I see opportunities all around... for Scarlet Threads to grow and flourish in Asia, for opportunities to partner with my friend in Uganda, to work with the women right down the street.  I want Cora to know a big, big world and have a heart for all God's people, and for her to have that, she needs to see it come alive in her mama.

This life is so short.  It is wild and precious.  I don't want to sleep through the beauty or the heartache.  I'm going to wake up.

The Year Of

I wrote something last year I never shared... too personal, too deep, too raw.  But I went back to it today and read it.  I'm in a different place now, so I'm ready to share now, albiet slightly edited to remove the more personal details...

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Image Credit

First written in January 2012:

In recent years, I'm a namer.

2010, The year of contentment. (Heh. Never achieved.) 2011, The year of change. (That's an understatement.) And now, in the dawn of 2012 I find myself wondering what I should name this gift of time. Fleeting, fast, and precious - I want to claim it as my own, and so I seek a name.

Transformation.

That's the word in my heart these last few days…

It's a painful word. And its a word I'd rather avoid. I'd like to name 2012 the year of settling. Or rest. But to be honest, those don't reflect the journey I know my heart needs to take… a journey that I know will lead to a deeper trust and peace. A journey that will lead to my own healing and the cessation of certain 'patterns of the heart' that I do not want passed on to my daughter.

Why transformation? What needs to be transformed?

Many things, but at the core, I need my picture of God transformed. I need to believe in the core of my being that He is good, kind, generous and capable - TO ME. Not just to others, for that seems obvious enough even to my own broken heart. I say I believe those things, but like everyone, my picture of God is colored by my experience… and in the story of my life, in ways most people may never see, that hasn't been the God I've seen since I was a young girl. I'm not saying He hasn't been good and kind to me. I'm not saying he isn't generous in his mercy and love or capable in his ability to work out impossible situations. I'm just saying that in the places closest to my heart, in my most vulnerable areas, that hasn't been the obvious picture to me.

And so what I say I believe and what I feel in my heart to be true are two very different things. I can't be the only one living with this dichotomy?

Transformation. In short, I want the God of my head to be the God of my heart. And I want Him to blow my boxes and limitations and preconceived notions out of the water.

I'm a little scared and a little (lot?) angry and a little tired and a little despairing… but finally, oh finally, I am a little hopeful. 

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Why am I sharing it now?  Because He is faithful to transform.  I'm not "there" yet, but I'm in a wholly different place today than I was one year ago.  I feel freed -- unchained... unshackled... able to see more clearly than ever before that God treasures me.  I know I have value, and that what makes me feel happy and peaceful matters as much as it does for anyone else.  I'm not as controlling as I was a year ago, and I'm certainly not as angry. 

I am transformed.

I haven't yet come up with the word for 2013, but I feel in my bones that it's going to be a good one...  Have you?  Would love to hear it if you have.

Top 12 of 2012

Sitting here in my comfy pants with a bubbly glass of champagne pondering the fact that there are only 50 brief moments left in 2012.  And, if the bubbly hasn't gone to my head too much and I'm doing my math properly, 525,550 precious moments spent up.  (More than a few of them, I must admit, spent on episodes of Modern Family and perusing Facebook.)

I wanted to end 2012 with my own personal list of the Top 12 of 2012.  These are more in a chronological order, as opposed to any kind of order of importance.

1: Cora's first birthday.
We celebrated with a simple cake and some pizza and salad with our Russian friends.  I was a bit meloncholy to think of my sweet baby growing up, but she was plunging headfirst into toddlerhood.

2: Buying our first home.
In a city where the houses are sometimes on the market for only a few hours, buying a home isn't for the faint of heart, but we had an awesome realtor with lots of patience, and our 8+ month search finally yielded the perfect little place for our family to sink some roots.  I even love the name of the street, and the neighbors don't get any better.

3: Picking berries with my grandma.
I'm so thankful I still have 3 of my grandparents, and that there health is good.  Seeing Cora with them is priceless; getting to soak of up their stories, wisdom, and wit is a gift.  Picking berries together? The icing on the cake.

4: Incredible new friends.
The kind who are deep and real and funny and raw and wouldn't hesitate to bend over backwards to do what they could to help each other.  I cried when I moved here.  But I know that I'd cry even harder if we leave.

5: Watching the waves tickle Cora's toes.
What started as a simple break in Jacob's insane travel schedule turned into a family vacation memory I won't forget.  The aquarium, the waves, and the simple flavor of seafood on a hot summer evening with an ocean breeze heavy in the air; her blonde curls heavy with the salty air.

6: The stars at night over Ft. Davis and the cool relief of Balmorhea Springs.
Another quick-escape-turned-memory... I learned to see the beauty in rugged West Texas on this trip... and realized that while I might not always live here, its wildness and freedom speak to my soul.  No matter where I might live, I think I am a Texan through and through.

7: My "other Cora" coming home from China with her adoptive family.  Finally, finally home.
I've loved her since she was a toddler.  To see her with her family now is an answered prayer.  That her family is friends of ours?  More icing on the cake.

8: The unexpected success of Scarlet Threads this year.
Wow.  All I can say is wow.  I love that it is turning into a legit little operation and not just a hobby of mine.  I can't wait to see where it goes in the coming years.

9: Taking Cora to China.
It was scary and I was brave and it was all so very worth it.  I'd do it again, but this time I'd make arrangements to have some help with the jetlag.  :)

10: Holding Grace's sweet baby.
And having the amazing honor of picking out an English name for sweet baby YiYi.  (May I introduce you to perfect little Eve?)

11: Having my sweet pup return after a 5 hour absence.
My heart broke at the thought of our little LeLe gone forever, in a strange town and on the eve of a bitterly cold snowstorm.  The sound of Jacob excitingly telling me to come see who had come home is probably one of the best moments of the year.

12: A peaceful Christmas.
Last year was hard.  But 2012 brought a lot of transformation and healing in my own life and in the lives of those I love the most.  And this year was a beautiful example of things changing.

There and Here: Thankful

Coffee steaming and that bright nighttime moon moving towards my friends on the other side of the world, I sit here in my living room simply thankful.

How fitting that we went over Thanksgiving.

I'm exhausted and stretched thin, staring at piles of Christmas Ornaments in my living room floor, but I'm joyfully thankful.  Thankful that my feet can be planted on the ground either here or there and I can be fully present in the moment... savoring it for what it is and soaking in the beauty.

I was so scared to go.  What if I loved it and didn't want to go home? What if I hated it and couldn't wait to get home?  Fundamentally both were fears of not being able to be fully present in the moment - living in either the past or the future... joy-stealers.

But it wasn't like that at all.  I ate a steaming plate of baozi and enjoyed every bite.  I watched my little girl clamor up the great wall, blonde curls blowing in a breeze.  She shared my lap with a love-hungry little boy, who scooted up to me on his bottom from across the room, and they both laughed.  I held one of my dearest friends' newborn babies, remembering the day almost two years ago when she held my sweet girl a few hours fresh.  I sat with a friend over a cup of hot coffee, talking about what it means to love Jesus and love others and have peace no matter the circumstances.  I found a discarded piece of the village to bring home with me.  (It will fit perfectly in that spot on the kitchen wall, reminding me of ancient ruins restored to places of life and beauty in the broken.)  I listened to my joy-FULL daughter delightedly calling out ShuShu to all the kind uncles (and aunts) she met and saw big smiles spread across surprised faces.  I enjoyed jiaozi made by my favorite jiaozi maker in all of China.  I worked with the seamstress to design new products (with my sister-in-law and childhood best friend) while Cora played in the seamstress' living room with her granddaughter, happily munching on an apple and watching Chinese TV.  I had lunch with my oldest Chinese friends and her family, marveling at how easy it is to pick up where you leave off.

It was hard and exhausting and stressful at times, but it was so very good.  And this time, when I left China, I didn't leave with tears.  I looked forward to my cozy little home, seeing my sweet girl reunited with her Dada, petting my very own village mutt, and of course, sleeping in my own bed.  I left thankful.

I may never be able to be in both places at once... but for the first time in two years, I know my heart can be split and it doesn't have to break.  

I'm Going Back (And Why I'm Taking My 22 Month Old.)

I can't believe I'm typing that.  In 4 days, I will be somewhere over the Pacific... daughter (hopefully) sleeping in my arms.

We are going back to China.

I'm excited and terrified all at the same time.  The terror has everything to do with taking my almost 2-year-old daughter to the other side of the world, and dealing with jetlag and all that loveliness, not to mention the travel time itself with an almost-two-year-old on my lap.

But I'm so excited...

Excited to see friends.
To hold babies.
To play ring-around-the-rosie with a ragtag group of toddlers.
To chat with the nannies and listen to them tell me I'm too skinny.
To see my daughter sitting at the preschool table with all her little brothers and sisters of the heart... a dream I've had in my mind's eye since before I ever knew my daughter's face.
To see her blonde hair in a sea of black.  (Prayers for patience and grace, please, on our behalf as we deal with countless people wanting to touch her hair.)
To sit around a steaming plate of jiaozi at the restaurant just across the bridge.
To just eat, really.
To see our ayi and see her face when she sees how big Cora is.
To hug Alison and Wendong and Jerry and Jessica.
To travel with my sister-in-law and get to know her even better.
To eat bags of fresh mandarin oranges, the little tiny ones... the kind you can only get in a can here.
To walk the aisles of the fabric market.
To stay up late talking with my best friend from high school, who is coming with her little girls from Indonesia.
To walk into the village with Ricky.
To hold my friend Grace's new baby - or to rub her pregnant belly... whichever the case may be.
To hear Chinese all around me.
To work on new products with Deng Jia and meet her granddaughter.

It's all too much for me, almost... my anticipation, my fear... to be honest, I've been so preoccupied with the ever-present question How Will Cora Do? that I've failed to really think about the trip.  It's like all I can picture is 10 days with a disoriented and exhausted daughter.  Fun stuff.  But every now and then I stop and really think about it.

Back in my pre-living-in-China days, I anticipated my "foreign mission trips" with such utter excitement that I could hardly see straight.  I would wonder how the trip would "change me" for weeks before I left, and to be honest it was rarely in ways that I could anticipate.  But this is different.  (Now my whole opinion on "mission trips" has substantially changed... but that's a whole 'nother post.)

But this feels more like going home.  And I'm glad for that.  I'm glad there isn't a big agenda or some impact I plan to have while there.  (And that's partially because I know now that the impact we have is usually quite paltry in comparison to the impact made on us, but mostly just because it feels like going home... and you don't think about "your impact" when you're going home to see your family.)  So all that to say, this trip feels very different than trips I've made in the past.

Which leaves me really wondering what it will actually be like.  What's it going to feel like snuggling a little orphan baby now that I'm a mama? (I don't count my one month with them after Cora was born and before we came home; I was too disoriented and confused to know what I felt about anything at that time.) What's it going to feel like having my little girl in a land where there are no car seats and you can't drink the water?  (Stuff like that never bothered me before, but now I'm a mama and we mamas, well, we like to worry.)  Now that I have a cozy and comfortable little life here in America, what's it going to feel like to be back in the raw and gritty world of rural China?  Will the heat be on when we get there?

Sometimes when people hear I'm taking Cora back with me, eyes widen and jaws drop.  And believe me, I've thought about all the ways this could be a bad idea.  It's what I dwell on 90% of the time.  So why do it?  The surface reason is that I can't be away from her for that long yet... period.  End of discussion.  (And that if my friends couldn't see her again, they might not consider me a friend anymore.)

But the deeper reason is that I want her to grow up never remembering a time that she didn't know what it was like to have a heart stretched by the things that really matter.  Not that she's gotta be my mini me and share all the same passions... but I want playing on the playground with a little girl who doesn't have a mama to be something she's known from her earliest day.  I want her to feel comfortable diving into a plate of food she can't name even if the surroundings would raise some eyebrows at the health department.  I want being in a sea of people who don't look or sound like her to feel natural to her.  I want her to know that just because we are separated by an ocean, and a million smaller things, these people are no less her brothers and sisters... that they deserve her respect, her honor, her compassion, her friendship, her love.

Even though it is unspeakably hard sometimes, I want her to always know what it is like to love two worlds.

(Please note: This is my idealistic pre-trip post.  Please pray that this is exactly what it turns out to be.  But be prepared for a post-trip "I will never do that again/what was I thinking" post.)