Two months ago I met with a friend who admonished me saying, "God has given you power and a voice - you need to use it. What's stopping you?" We talked about how I felt afraid of men, of their opinion of me, of their power; that I usually don't speak up in groups of men because I have already assumed that they have judged me to be old, not smart, have nothing to add, etc. Those are actually either my own judgments or the voice from the pit.
Around the same time another person, a man who is a sometimes mentor, told me that I was incredibly competent but not very confident. That for me, developing confidence was important as a next step in professional and spiritual development.
Then, earlier this week, I received an group e-mail from the head of a large missionary organization; he spoke about the quality men he and his board had just hired to be in senior leadership roles nationally and internationally. As I read it I thought, "Where are all the women?" It troubled me that in an organization that is evangelical, ministers to men and women alike and states it is for women in leadership, that no women were placed in these positions. I decided to respond back to this man.
I wrote a lengthy e-mail stating that while it was great that he had found quality men for these leadership positions, I didn't see any women being chosen. I talked about my roles in his organization in the past, about my daughters roles; but that though we adore his organization, I cannot recommend that my daughters choose this organization for long-term professional employment. I questioned him as to why women aren't being found to fill these roles, and why even at lower levels in the organization women are few and far between. I was pretty strong in my wording. Not flip but definitely challenging his choices.
Before I sent the e-mail I had another woman who has been in this organization for many years read it. She loved it, said it was great, and that I should send it. So, with a great deal of trepidation, I did. After all, if I am going to learn to use my voice I am going to have to risk speaking out.
An hour after I sent it, I got a response from the head of the organization. He stated he was sorry I felt the way I did. Then he wrote a paragraph defending his hiring practices, telling me the names of all seven (out of many more positions that have been available) of the women he had promoted into senior roles in leadership during his tenure (one of whom he later fired and one who had been hired to replace another woman had passed away). Then he wished me well. End of story. He laid the smack down and shut the door on further communication.
At first I felt horribly embarrassed. What was I thinking to even contact this man? What if he sent the e-mail on to others? What if I have to meet him? He must be so angry and think I am a total bozo. I debated whether or not I should apologize for having a strong opinion, for writing him on a Friday when he is probably really tired, even for being my being a woman in the first place.
I felt like crying, assuming that God was mad at me, too. I felt like I should tuck in my tail and never do anything bold like that again. I was a bad girl to think such things and even badder for expressing them. Shit.
Fortunately, in the midst of my panic and shame, my wonderful middle son called. I gave a quick run-down on what I was feeling and he strongly suggested I not apologize, not back down, and stop feeling bad for having expressed a strong opinion. He sweetly told me I was a beautiful woman and that the other person was a completely sexist idiot (or words to that effect.)
After we got off the phone I deleted my groveling apologizing-for-being-a-woman e-mail and went to the store for Soy Peanut Butter Chocolate Ice Cream, Asian Chicken, and a bamboo cutting board that came with Gouda, Salami and Crackers. I ate dinner with my two youngest daughters who also have my back and are also learning to have a voice. We watched a movie and then I studied Bonhoeffer.
Now that I have slept and had some coffee, I continue to process what happened. It makes me sad on multiple levels. I want to cry for myself that it hurts so much when my voice and my power get shut down by a man who has tons of power and voice. I think of all the years I didn't speak up, and how I suffered from it, and that I suffer now in the learning. I think about my daughters and sons who are being empowered by me and others who love them to speak up, to use the voice God gave each of them, to say "No!" to injustice and "Yes!" to freedom. It makes me want to cry to know that they have suffered much, yet I rejoice that they are rising above that suffering to be quality men and women who will fight for justice and mercy in this world.
Can I forgive myself for speaking up and getting hurt, for being a woman who is messy in her learning? Can I forgive this powerful man for shutting me down so coldly? Can I continue to fight for women of all ages to use their power and their voice to bring healing to themselves and others? If I see this man in the future will I be able to stand up strong, knowing that he may have a negative opinion of me, or worse, might speak to me or regard me coldly and move on? Will I be OK in the messiness of learning to speak up, or am I going to chicken out, quit being a woman in leadership, and get a job at Wal-Mart?
Today, I don't know. Being a chicken looks pretty good. But if I cave, if I faint in a land of peace, what's going to happen when the battle heats up? Who's going to stand in the gap for my daughters and sons and others like them if women like me give up our voice and our power?
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Do we have a voice?
Yesterday I dropped the youngest three off to help their dad move into the new house he bought with his lover. I did some grocery shopping and then met a couple of friends for lunch. The kids were slated to work for their dad for the rest of the day and then have dinner with him before heading home. He was paying them for their work; one of the girls owed him money for camp but the other two kids were expecting to get some sweet cash.
During lunch I got several calls in quick succession from my son's cell phone. I didn't answer, but then got a text from my daughter in Seattle saying that my youngest daughter needed me because her dad was "being a bad word." Lunch was pretty much over, so I said my goodbyes and left to call the kids.
Apparently the kids' dad neglected to tell them that his lover would be working with them. The two girls don't want to interact with her right now, which they had made clear to their dad a few months ago. When the kids arrived at their dad's apartment, and saw she was there, the youngest daughter stayed in the car. When they went to the new house, the lover stayed at the apartment to pack more of the kids' dad's stuff.
Hence the call from the new house to me from the youngest in tears, stating that she didn't know what to do. She wanted the money her dad was going to give her, but it was coming at a price she didn't want to pay. We talked for awhile, and I talked with her sister who felt obligated to stay because she owed her dad the money. I suggested that the youngest ask her dad to stop working for a few minutes in order to talk this out with her. Unfortunately, at that moment, the lover arrived and everything fell apart. I told the youngest to get in the car with her siblings and meet me in town. I also told the other daughter that she had to come home. We would sort this out and then regroup with a decision about what to do next.
On the way home, the girls talked about what had happened. They felt their dad wasn't going to change, that he expected them to adapt; he stated that they knew he and the lover had bought a house as if that made his disregard of their feelings OK.
Later that night, one daughter climbed into my bed and cried. She said she felt she was losing her dad. A peacemaker, when she saw the angry expression on the lover's face, she had tried to comfort her by saying they didn't hate her, all the while having a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. The lover told her that she came over to the new house when the kids were there to show them that "she wasn't the bad guy in this." My daughter felt confused by that statement, and like the rest of us, confused about her feelings. We talked for a long time and then she went to sleep in my bed.
Shit. I question whether I did the right thing in telling the girls they had to come home. I don't know if there was a "right thing." We all want healing, but we all need to do that in healthy ways. The kids told their dad they didn't want to interact with the lover yet, and he and the lover forced the issue. Do I tell my girls to suck it up and deal with it? Or do I tell them that they can leave if they are feeling panicky or deeply hurt?
When I was their age, and shitty things were going down, I had no one who saw me, who heard my pain, who protected me and said "You are worthy of rescue and safety." I sucked it up and dealt with it; and spent many years in recovery. I became a dysfunctional co-dependent survivor. I don't want this for my own children. I want them to know that I see them, that I hear their pain, and that they can ask to be rescued. Feeling powerless is a super shitty place to be in. I want them to know that they aren't powerless, that they have a voice, and that they know intuitively what is right and what is wrong because God's Spirit lives inside them.
My children have a wonderful support system in each other. The youngest knew she could call her sister and her sister would be there for her. They all know that their siblings have their back. They have been through hell and their bond is strong. I am thankful and grateful to God for this love that they have.
Did I do that right thing? I think so. I want the kids to know that they don't have to swallow who they are in order to make their dad or the lover or me feel OK when we make wrong choices that hurt them. I want my kids to know that what they think and feel is of worth and importance. I want them to know that they are of inestimable value to God, and that He has given them intuitive spirits that know the truth.
It doesn't matter that we are going to get through this; we are. What does matter is how we get through it. Do we lie, trying to make everyone else feel OK, while shattering inside? Or do we get through it intact by being truthful, saying hard things and drawing hard lines? I think we are choosing to be on the path of truth, painful as it is.
During lunch I got several calls in quick succession from my son's cell phone. I didn't answer, but then got a text from my daughter in Seattle saying that my youngest daughter needed me because her dad was "being a bad word." Lunch was pretty much over, so I said my goodbyes and left to call the kids.
Apparently the kids' dad neglected to tell them that his lover would be working with them. The two girls don't want to interact with her right now, which they had made clear to their dad a few months ago. When the kids arrived at their dad's apartment, and saw she was there, the youngest daughter stayed in the car. When they went to the new house, the lover stayed at the apartment to pack more of the kids' dad's stuff.
Hence the call from the new house to me from the youngest in tears, stating that she didn't know what to do. She wanted the money her dad was going to give her, but it was coming at a price she didn't want to pay. We talked for awhile, and I talked with her sister who felt obligated to stay because she owed her dad the money. I suggested that the youngest ask her dad to stop working for a few minutes in order to talk this out with her. Unfortunately, at that moment, the lover arrived and everything fell apart. I told the youngest to get in the car with her siblings and meet me in town. I also told the other daughter that she had to come home. We would sort this out and then regroup with a decision about what to do next.
On the way home, the girls talked about what had happened. They felt their dad wasn't going to change, that he expected them to adapt; he stated that they knew he and the lover had bought a house as if that made his disregard of their feelings OK.
Later that night, one daughter climbed into my bed and cried. She said she felt she was losing her dad. A peacemaker, when she saw the angry expression on the lover's face, she had tried to comfort her by saying they didn't hate her, all the while having a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. The lover told her that she came over to the new house when the kids were there to show them that "she wasn't the bad guy in this." My daughter felt confused by that statement, and like the rest of us, confused about her feelings. We talked for a long time and then she went to sleep in my bed.
Shit. I question whether I did the right thing in telling the girls they had to come home. I don't know if there was a "right thing." We all want healing, but we all need to do that in healthy ways. The kids told their dad they didn't want to interact with the lover yet, and he and the lover forced the issue. Do I tell my girls to suck it up and deal with it? Or do I tell them that they can leave if they are feeling panicky or deeply hurt?
When I was their age, and shitty things were going down, I had no one who saw me, who heard my pain, who protected me and said "You are worthy of rescue and safety." I sucked it up and dealt with it; and spent many years in recovery. I became a dysfunctional co-dependent survivor. I don't want this for my own children. I want them to know that I see them, that I hear their pain, and that they can ask to be rescued. Feeling powerless is a super shitty place to be in. I want them to know that they aren't powerless, that they have a voice, and that they know intuitively what is right and what is wrong because God's Spirit lives inside them.
My children have a wonderful support system in each other. The youngest knew she could call her sister and her sister would be there for her. They all know that their siblings have their back. They have been through hell and their bond is strong. I am thankful and grateful to God for this love that they have.
Did I do that right thing? I think so. I want the kids to know that they don't have to swallow who they are in order to make their dad or the lover or me feel OK when we make wrong choices that hurt them. I want my kids to know that what they think and feel is of worth and importance. I want them to know that they are of inestimable value to God, and that He has given them intuitive spirits that know the truth.
It doesn't matter that we are going to get through this; we are. What does matter is how we get through it. Do we lie, trying to make everyone else feel OK, while shattering inside? Or do we get through it intact by being truthful, saying hard things and drawing hard lines? I think we are choosing to be on the path of truth, painful as it is.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Walking down the aisle, Part 2
I spoke with my son today about the possibility of his dad's lover coming to the wedding. Afterward I felt dirty, disgusted with myself. How do I be honest with my children about what is happening in my life and theirs without feeling like a tattle tale? They want to know, but I don't like to be the one who tells. I wondered if I was being passive aggressive, attempting to rally all my offspring on my side against their father. What a cheap and unkind thing to do. In honest confession, I think there is a part of me that is wanting to do that, wanting all of them to say he's a bastard and to shun him.
But is that what I really want?
What I really want is for someone, or many someones, to validate my pain. To understand my sorrow. To say I am right and he was wrong. To say that I deserve the good and he deserves the bad. I want vindication.
But there is something else beneath that.
I want to be free. Free from wanting vindication, free from wanting validation, free from wanting to be right or deserving of good. I want to be free from the past, from all of it, and I want the freedom to move forward.
My friend John said that my children's father and I will be forever linked through them. There is no changing of that truth. And yet, what I see now, is the web that connects my individual children to each other and to me as a web of its own, with no former husband anywhere nearby. It is our own web, our own family, and we are our own entity.
If he brings his lover to the wedding, can I continue to picture that web as we celebrate my daughter's marriage and the addition of a new family member to my web?
The Lord gave me a picture last spring of a Native American ceremony in which my marriage contract was officially broken. I held a spear, which symbolized my marriage covenant, as I stood before the Lord and the father of my children. I broke the spear and the contract was over. Then the Lord and I turned to a peaceful green valley with white tee-pees in it, one for each of my children and one for me. We were our own tribe now, our own clan.
I need to be present to this change, to my former husband's relationship with his lover, their buying a home together, and the chance that she will attend the wedding. I need to be present to this challenge of accepting what is. I don't have to like it, I don't have to agree with it, I don't have to condone it in anyway. But I do have to accept it.
Can I forgive? Not yet. Can I be gracious? Not yet. Can I be welcoming? Not yet. I am glad I have a few more months to get ready, to not let this rob me of my happiness and joy, to know what I will say when the time comes to interact with the two of them.
But is that what I really want?
What I really want is for someone, or many someones, to validate my pain. To understand my sorrow. To say I am right and he was wrong. To say that I deserve the good and he deserves the bad. I want vindication.
But there is something else beneath that.
I want to be free. Free from wanting vindication, free from wanting validation, free from wanting to be right or deserving of good. I want to be free from the past, from all of it, and I want the freedom to move forward.
My friend John said that my children's father and I will be forever linked through them. There is no changing of that truth. And yet, what I see now, is the web that connects my individual children to each other and to me as a web of its own, with no former husband anywhere nearby. It is our own web, our own family, and we are our own entity.
If he brings his lover to the wedding, can I continue to picture that web as we celebrate my daughter's marriage and the addition of a new family member to my web?
The Lord gave me a picture last spring of a Native American ceremony in which my marriage contract was officially broken. I held a spear, which symbolized my marriage covenant, as I stood before the Lord and the father of my children. I broke the spear and the contract was over. Then the Lord and I turned to a peaceful green valley with white tee-pees in it, one for each of my children and one for me. We were our own tribe now, our own clan.
I need to be present to this change, to my former husband's relationship with his lover, their buying a home together, and the chance that she will attend the wedding. I need to be present to this challenge of accepting what is. I don't have to like it, I don't have to agree with it, I don't have to condone it in anyway. But I do have to accept it.
Can I forgive? Not yet. Can I be gracious? Not yet. Can I be welcoming? Not yet. I am glad I have a few more months to get ready, to not let this rob me of my happiness and joy, to know what I will say when the time comes to interact with the two of them.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Walking down the aisle
We are going to have a wedding in the family. I am super excited about this. I found out right before Christmas about the engagement and I was thrilled. After many long years of hard stuff in our lives, this signals for me a turning of the tide.
It is going to be an interesting journey to get to the other side of the wedding. My mom, who is recovering from breast cancer and dealing with some lymph-edema in her arm, will be riding with my brother and his wife and kids in their suburban. The younger set would like to drive almost non-stop from Houston to Eastern Oregon but Mom does not. Honestly, who would? I think that it isn't good for her health to force her into such an undertaking. How to help her talk to my brother about taking four days to drive with sleep overnight, that is the question. Is it my job to advocate for her? Or hers alone?
Second interesting part is my former husband's desire to bring his lover and her 90 year old mom (also dealing with breast cancer.) No one wants him to bring her or them. And I mean no one. But if the bride and groom agree to it, then the rest of us will honor their decision.
When I first learned that this was a possibility, I wanted to cry. I did cry. I didn't sleep well that night and then I cried some more. And came down with a horrible cold. I think my immune system is expressing what I haven't and probably won't to the ex. That he is a bastard, that I hate him on some level, and that he is so utterly clueless about how his actions affect others that he simply doesn't see how much he has wounded the rest of us. I just keep blowing my nose, sucking on sore throat drops and drinking chicken soup.
My body knows what my mind doesn't seem able to say. That I need to care for me. That I need to hunker down for a bit, cancel everything on my calendar and hide out. And that I need the solace of quiet, rest, nurture and peace. Time alone to process and to be with the Lord. To tell God that I am hurt, that this is shitty, and that I will need a lot of strength and courage to walk into the land of healing if the lover and her mom come to the wedding.
But maybe what I also need is to not let this rob me of my joy about my daughter getting married. To rise above the hate, the hurt, the anger and the frustration I feel and to focus on all the good stuff that is happening in the lives of my children and in my life. I am so blessed to be the mom of seven fabulous children and soon to add another son into the mix. I know I will cry if the lover and her mom do decide to go to the wedding. I know that I will think all sorts of nasty thoughts prior to the big day. I know I will want to act selfishly and cuss and that I will imagine all sorts of devious acts or wicked words to say. And I know that I will do none of the things I imagine I would like to do.
Abba (my word for God the Father), Abba - I know that if I just come hunker down with You, drink my soup, put my head on Your chest and listen to Your heartbeat, I will get to the other side of this in great shape. I don't want to be a selfish, devious, ungrateful, pouting woman. I want to be the woman You made me to be. Help me to remember my power, my voice, my destiny in You which far exceeds petty thoughts and broken hearts. Thank You that all my feelings are safe with You. All of them.
It is going to be an interesting journey to get to the other side of the wedding. My mom, who is recovering from breast cancer and dealing with some lymph-edema in her arm, will be riding with my brother and his wife and kids in their suburban. The younger set would like to drive almost non-stop from Houston to Eastern Oregon but Mom does not. Honestly, who would? I think that it isn't good for her health to force her into such an undertaking. How to help her talk to my brother about taking four days to drive with sleep overnight, that is the question. Is it my job to advocate for her? Or hers alone?
Second interesting part is my former husband's desire to bring his lover and her 90 year old mom (also dealing with breast cancer.) No one wants him to bring her or them. And I mean no one. But if the bride and groom agree to it, then the rest of us will honor their decision.
When I first learned that this was a possibility, I wanted to cry. I did cry. I didn't sleep well that night and then I cried some more. And came down with a horrible cold. I think my immune system is expressing what I haven't and probably won't to the ex. That he is a bastard, that I hate him on some level, and that he is so utterly clueless about how his actions affect others that he simply doesn't see how much he has wounded the rest of us. I just keep blowing my nose, sucking on sore throat drops and drinking chicken soup.
My body knows what my mind doesn't seem able to say. That I need to care for me. That I need to hunker down for a bit, cancel everything on my calendar and hide out. And that I need the solace of quiet, rest, nurture and peace. Time alone to process and to be with the Lord. To tell God that I am hurt, that this is shitty, and that I will need a lot of strength and courage to walk into the land of healing if the lover and her mom come to the wedding.
But maybe what I also need is to not let this rob me of my joy about my daughter getting married. To rise above the hate, the hurt, the anger and the frustration I feel and to focus on all the good stuff that is happening in the lives of my children and in my life. I am so blessed to be the mom of seven fabulous children and soon to add another son into the mix. I know I will cry if the lover and her mom do decide to go to the wedding. I know that I will think all sorts of nasty thoughts prior to the big day. I know I will want to act selfishly and cuss and that I will imagine all sorts of devious acts or wicked words to say. And I know that I will do none of the things I imagine I would like to do.
Abba (my word for God the Father), Abba - I know that if I just come hunker down with You, drink my soup, put my head on Your chest and listen to Your heartbeat, I will get to the other side of this in great shape. I don't want to be a selfish, devious, ungrateful, pouting woman. I want to be the woman You made me to be. Help me to remember my power, my voice, my destiny in You which far exceeds petty thoughts and broken hearts. Thank You that all my feelings are safe with You. All of them.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Mercy and Justice
I am posting portions of a paper I just finished for one of my classes at Fuller Seminary. It was a process paper on signature themes in my learning so far (nine courses) This first section is on mercy and justice.
Section One: Mercy and Justice
“I will sow her for Myself in the land. I will also have compassion on her who had not obtained compassion...” (Hosea 2:3a)
God created me for Himself, to know Him, love Him, worship Him and experience eternity in joyful communion with Him. He created me to become a wife and mother, to be a missional leader, a lifelong learner and to finish well. Before the foundations of the earth, He knew my name and knew when and where He would place me along the continuum of His story of the redemption of His creation. He created me with a purpose and a great plan, for good works in Christ Jesus. He created me in love.
My earliest memories are of fear, chaos, anger and trauma. I do not remember being held or feeling safe. I do not remember being told about God. I do not remember peace. I have a copy of a home movie taken when I was six weeks old, lying on my mother’s lap. As I look at that video now, I know what is to come. I know that little baby will be abused as a little girl, and later will become the object of her father’s drunken chaos; she will, as a young teenager, become the dumping ground for her alcoholic father's emotional emptiness. I know that precious little infant girl will be robbed of her dignity, her sense of value, her innocence and her ability to trust.
Perhaps it was in those early teenage years - after I had begun to develop and my father would come into my room late in the evening, his breath bitter with the stink of hard liquor and life’s disappointments, when he would lay next to me on my bed and fear would ooze out of my every pore - perhaps it was then that I began to seek an understanding of mercy and justice. I met the Lord when I was barely fourteen and begged Him to stop my dad from coming into my room. It would be six more years before the last time my father sought me out to touch me and breathe his bitter breath on me. I did not understand why God did not answer that prayer, or why bad things kept on happening, or why I was trapped in such a hell. All I knew was that somewhere deep in me I wanted to be loved, and maybe, if I just kept quiet and was a good girl, God would love me. Maybe someday I would be free.
What I endured is common for young girls around the world, in the United States, in my little town, and most likely, in my neighborhood. I know that all that God creates is good and that Satan seeks to tear it apart. Satan did not want me to have a successful marriage, or children who would come to know the Lord, nor did he want me to be a missional leader, a life-long learner and finish well. Satan wanted my spirit and all the goodness that God had created me in to die in the bitter breath of an abusing father.
Mercy is defined as “clemency; leniency and compassion shown toward offenders by a person charged with administering justice.” Justice is defined as “the assignment of merited punishments.” In my heart, I was conflicted over both: I secretly wanted justice for myself and yet was dysfunctional enough to desire mercy for my father. The issue of mercy and justice would become a signature theme in my life, personally and in ministry. They would become critical issues for me in redeeming the past as I hoped to finish well as a leader and believer in Christ. Until I could understand them both, and God’s plan in mercy and justice, the past would retain power in the present and impact my future.
In Genesis 16, Sarai’s Egyptian maid, Hagar, call God, “the God who sees” (v. 16). In the theme of mercy and justice, this is a critical concept to grasp. First, I must accept that God saw me being abused in my home as a little girl and a teenager. Then, I must come to terms with whether or not I can trust a God who did not rescue me out of my situation, but allowed it to continue. Can I love and serve this God, who saw the wrong done to me and asks me to give my life to Him? My idea of mercy would have been to never allow me to be born into that home; my idea of justice would have been to punish my father severely for the wrongs committed against me. The tension lies in the place that comprehends that God saw that infant girl, loved her beyond measure, and yet allowed her to be abused; this God remains trustworthy, a God of mercy and justice.
In ministry, I meet with young women every week who have lived a similar story, grown-up little girls who have been abused much more than I. We carry the same question in our hearts: is God really a God who sees? If He does see, then why did He not exact justice against our abuser and grant us mercy by rescuing us? This is a primary question that each will ask in their journey to faith in Christ. I have had many years to come to terms with God’s mercy and justice; most of the time I can articulate what mercy and justice are in God’s economy. Sometimes, in the face of horrific stories of abuse and abandonment, my own spirit slips back into my teenage bedroom where fear overrode all reason, and my heart breaks from the weight of it all.
Lesslie Newbigin wrote, “Missions have never been able to separate the preaching of the gospel from action for God’s justice” (1983:102). As a missional leader, mercy and justice have been two sides of the same coin. I bring God’s mercy to women who have been abused through being transparent about my own faith journey, questions, doubts and discoveries and by listening with a heart open to their stories. At the same time, I advocate for women in my community who have been treated unjustly, whether that be in a medical setting, a domestic violence issue, or for resources to assist in moving out of poverty, including education and employment.
Richard de Ridder says “Her (Israel’s) treatment of strangers in her midst...must always be a conscious attempt to practice God’s concern for the stranger....This significant relationship of God’s people to the world is not the passive kind of relationship....it is rather the active participation of God’s people in the affairs of the world. They must maintain...right relationship to God by pursuing righteousness and showing justice to others. Both together complete the covenant obedience of the law revealed at Sinai.” (1983:156)
As I have pondered the theme of mercy and justice, I am continually reminded that my role as a missional leader has not been one of passive relationship with those around me who have been abused. It has always been one of passion, seeking to right wrongs, seeking to give voice to those who have not previously been granted the space to tell the story of what has happened to them. Van Engen writes, “What is the Good News for the women around the world who make up fifty percent of the world population and who are caught in disempowering value systems” (1994:213)? As a woman still recovering from abuse, and as a leader working to bring the healing presence of Christ into the lives of women who have been abused, I believe a primary role in my life centers around mercy and justice for women.
Section One: Mercy and Justice
“I will sow her for Myself in the land. I will also have compassion on her who had not obtained compassion...” (Hosea 2:3a)
God created me for Himself, to know Him, love Him, worship Him and experience eternity in joyful communion with Him. He created me to become a wife and mother, to be a missional leader, a lifelong learner and to finish well. Before the foundations of the earth, He knew my name and knew when and where He would place me along the continuum of His story of the redemption of His creation. He created me with a purpose and a great plan, for good works in Christ Jesus. He created me in love.
My earliest memories are of fear, chaos, anger and trauma. I do not remember being held or feeling safe. I do not remember being told about God. I do not remember peace. I have a copy of a home movie taken when I was six weeks old, lying on my mother’s lap. As I look at that video now, I know what is to come. I know that little baby will be abused as a little girl, and later will become the object of her father’s drunken chaos; she will, as a young teenager, become the dumping ground for her alcoholic father's emotional emptiness. I know that precious little infant girl will be robbed of her dignity, her sense of value, her innocence and her ability to trust.
Perhaps it was in those early teenage years - after I had begun to develop and my father would come into my room late in the evening, his breath bitter with the stink of hard liquor and life’s disappointments, when he would lay next to me on my bed and fear would ooze out of my every pore - perhaps it was then that I began to seek an understanding of mercy and justice. I met the Lord when I was barely fourteen and begged Him to stop my dad from coming into my room. It would be six more years before the last time my father sought me out to touch me and breathe his bitter breath on me. I did not understand why God did not answer that prayer, or why bad things kept on happening, or why I was trapped in such a hell. All I knew was that somewhere deep in me I wanted to be loved, and maybe, if I just kept quiet and was a good girl, God would love me. Maybe someday I would be free.
What I endured is common for young girls around the world, in the United States, in my little town, and most likely, in my neighborhood. I know that all that God creates is good and that Satan seeks to tear it apart. Satan did not want me to have a successful marriage, or children who would come to know the Lord, nor did he want me to be a missional leader, a life-long learner and finish well. Satan wanted my spirit and all the goodness that God had created me in to die in the bitter breath of an abusing father.
Mercy is defined as “clemency; leniency and compassion shown toward offenders by a person charged with administering justice.” Justice is defined as “the assignment of merited punishments.” In my heart, I was conflicted over both: I secretly wanted justice for myself and yet was dysfunctional enough to desire mercy for my father. The issue of mercy and justice would become a signature theme in my life, personally and in ministry. They would become critical issues for me in redeeming the past as I hoped to finish well as a leader and believer in Christ. Until I could understand them both, and God’s plan in mercy and justice, the past would retain power in the present and impact my future.
In Genesis 16, Sarai’s Egyptian maid, Hagar, call God, “the God who sees” (v. 16). In the theme of mercy and justice, this is a critical concept to grasp. First, I must accept that God saw me being abused in my home as a little girl and a teenager. Then, I must come to terms with whether or not I can trust a God who did not rescue me out of my situation, but allowed it to continue. Can I love and serve this God, who saw the wrong done to me and asks me to give my life to Him? My idea of mercy would have been to never allow me to be born into that home; my idea of justice would have been to punish my father severely for the wrongs committed against me. The tension lies in the place that comprehends that God saw that infant girl, loved her beyond measure, and yet allowed her to be abused; this God remains trustworthy, a God of mercy and justice.
In ministry, I meet with young women every week who have lived a similar story, grown-up little girls who have been abused much more than I. We carry the same question in our hearts: is God really a God who sees? If He does see, then why did He not exact justice against our abuser and grant us mercy by rescuing us? This is a primary question that each will ask in their journey to faith in Christ. I have had many years to come to terms with God’s mercy and justice; most of the time I can articulate what mercy and justice are in God’s economy. Sometimes, in the face of horrific stories of abuse and abandonment, my own spirit slips back into my teenage bedroom where fear overrode all reason, and my heart breaks from the weight of it all.
Lesslie Newbigin wrote, “Missions have never been able to separate the preaching of the gospel from action for God’s justice” (1983:102). As a missional leader, mercy and justice have been two sides of the same coin. I bring God’s mercy to women who have been abused through being transparent about my own faith journey, questions, doubts and discoveries and by listening with a heart open to their stories. At the same time, I advocate for women in my community who have been treated unjustly, whether that be in a medical setting, a domestic violence issue, or for resources to assist in moving out of poverty, including education and employment.
Richard de Ridder says “Her (Israel’s) treatment of strangers in her midst...must always be a conscious attempt to practice God’s concern for the stranger....This significant relationship of God’s people to the world is not the passive kind of relationship....it is rather the active participation of God’s people in the affairs of the world. They must maintain...right relationship to God by pursuing righteousness and showing justice to others. Both together complete the covenant obedience of the law revealed at Sinai.” (1983:156)
As I have pondered the theme of mercy and justice, I am continually reminded that my role as a missional leader has not been one of passive relationship with those around me who have been abused. It has always been one of passion, seeking to right wrongs, seeking to give voice to those who have not previously been granted the space to tell the story of what has happened to them. Van Engen writes, “What is the Good News for the women around the world who make up fifty percent of the world population and who are caught in disempowering value systems” (1994:213)? As a woman still recovering from abuse, and as a leader working to bring the healing presence of Christ into the lives of women who have been abused, I believe a primary role in my life centers around mercy and justice for women.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Weakness
The past week has had its moments and I concluded that I was in serious avoidance of some key issues in my spirit regarding the Lord. My week ended with a trip to see my son and daughter-in-law overnight Friday. I found myself in a confusion of feelings, of remembrances of past heartaches, of sharp reminders of current pain, and of hard truths about who I have been and who I am today. I found myself extremely detached from my own soul; yet oddly driven by my desire to survive and show myself to be in control and on top of life’s present challenges.
As I drove the two hours home on Saturday, my heart broke open. As I wept tears and snot at 70 miles per hour, I realized two things. The first is how deeply I was robbed as an infant, small child and young girl of any concept of my femininity, of any sense of protection, of knowing I was safe when I was weak. Much of who God intended me to be was ripped away by abuse, fear, abandonment, and violence. The upshot of it all was that I spoke lies to myself that I had to be strong to survive, strong and almost masculine in order to defend my heart from being hurt and defend my body from ever being purely feminine and beautiful as I was...and am.
The second is that I am created to be weak in a good sense; created to acknowledge my Heavenly Father as my strength. The truth is, I am weak now - incredibly so - unable to carry much of this load, exhausted, afraid, trembling in the dark at 3 a.m. while trying to convince myself that my mistakes and misjudgments won’t be used by the Father I adore to harm me down the road. And yet, God has created my weakness to magnify and glorify Him; created me to be at peace and at rest in Him. I am completely broken and completely whole in my weakness before the Lord. I am safer in my weakness than I have ever been in my so-called strength.
So I surrendered it all to Him, all the shit, all the shame, all the darkness that whispers that I am not and never will be enough – enough for Him to love me, enough for any man to ever look at me again in love, enough for Jesus just as I am. I know that I will not be able to fix what is broken in my life and the lives of my children. I know I will be able to be weak, to cry, to ask for help from friends, to not have the answers that I forever told myself I had to have to be safe. It is enough that God is my Dad and the Dad of my children; that He sees me and loves me as He created me: feminine, weak, beautiful, funny and loving.
I lay on my bed this afternoon tired beyond belief from another bout of 4 a.m. wakefulness; I closed my eyes and knew without hesitation that I am fat woman who is loved and adored by God. It is in this place of truth-telling that I believe God is able to speak into why I eat, why I feel so empty. There is peace in this place.
My plan this week is to create more margins in my life where His joy and Spirit seep into my soul and revives the weak, small, feminine little girl who simply and deeply desires to be filled up by His presence. My plan is to keep saying “no” – to busy schedules, to fear, to being strong, to voices that seek to kill off my soul: and to keep saying “yes” to the tears, sorrow and grief that I have stuffed away for a lifetime. I think as I let them out there will be room to not work so hard at keeping it all contained; room for my body and soul to be weak and at peace.
As I drove the two hours home on Saturday, my heart broke open. As I wept tears and snot at 70 miles per hour, I realized two things. The first is how deeply I was robbed as an infant, small child and young girl of any concept of my femininity, of any sense of protection, of knowing I was safe when I was weak. Much of who God intended me to be was ripped away by abuse, fear, abandonment, and violence. The upshot of it all was that I spoke lies to myself that I had to be strong to survive, strong and almost masculine in order to defend my heart from being hurt and defend my body from ever being purely feminine and beautiful as I was...and am.
The second is that I am created to be weak in a good sense; created to acknowledge my Heavenly Father as my strength. The truth is, I am weak now - incredibly so - unable to carry much of this load, exhausted, afraid, trembling in the dark at 3 a.m. while trying to convince myself that my mistakes and misjudgments won’t be used by the Father I adore to harm me down the road. And yet, God has created my weakness to magnify and glorify Him; created me to be at peace and at rest in Him. I am completely broken and completely whole in my weakness before the Lord. I am safer in my weakness than I have ever been in my so-called strength.
So I surrendered it all to Him, all the shit, all the shame, all the darkness that whispers that I am not and never will be enough – enough for Him to love me, enough for any man to ever look at me again in love, enough for Jesus just as I am. I know that I will not be able to fix what is broken in my life and the lives of my children. I know I will be able to be weak, to cry, to ask for help from friends, to not have the answers that I forever told myself I had to have to be safe. It is enough that God is my Dad and the Dad of my children; that He sees me and loves me as He created me: feminine, weak, beautiful, funny and loving.
I lay on my bed this afternoon tired beyond belief from another bout of 4 a.m. wakefulness; I closed my eyes and knew without hesitation that I am fat woman who is loved and adored by God. It is in this place of truth-telling that I believe God is able to speak into why I eat, why I feel so empty. There is peace in this place.
My plan this week is to create more margins in my life where His joy and Spirit seep into my soul and revives the weak, small, feminine little girl who simply and deeply desires to be filled up by His presence. My plan is to keep saying “no” – to busy schedules, to fear, to being strong, to voices that seek to kill off my soul: and to keep saying “yes” to the tears, sorrow and grief that I have stuffed away for a lifetime. I think as I let them out there will be room to not work so hard at keeping it all contained; room for my body and soul to be weak and at peace.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Consequences
Saturday night was crazy. I was out of sorts already, but didn't realize it; I was simply numbed out to the emotions that were rolling around inside of me, but still driven by those feelings. And all they said was, get away.
I decided to watch a quiet movie when my oldest daughter called to talk. I knew we wouldn't have another chance for a week, so I stopped the movie to visit with her. I felt hemmed in at home, and decided to talk with her while I ran to the store for milk. I let the kids know I was leaving, but a few minutes down the road my daughter had to hang up. I decided to avoid responsibility at home; on impulse I took off down the freeway to see the big fire that had been burning at the local lumber mill. That was my first mistake. I left those rowdy kids home alone. Later I learned that they had been wrestling, and when one jumped on another's back, they fell into a wall. Now there is a body sized dent that will have to be sheetrocked and textured.
However, the fire was so incredible. I had to share it with the kids so I called them to meet me in town. My plan was to drive them to see the fire, then head back to town to get the other car. They met me in town as planned and we oohed and aahed over the huge fire. However, on the way back, I realized that no one had put the food away from dinner and the dog was in the house. That was my second mistake. While we were out, that rowdy dog put her huge paws on my new lovely center island table, gobbled up all the shredded pork, and scratched up my lovely table. Now I will have to sand it down and refinish it, or live with the deep scratches.
I was pretty mad after seeing the large hole in the wall and the table scratches. I gave the kids their jobs to do, and was heading down to watch my movie when my daughter-in-law called. She doesn't call very often so I opted to stop the movie and talk privately in my room. That was my third mistake. The kids were still a bit rowdy while they cleaned the kitchen and made cocoa. There was a glass pie plate on a burner, and when one of them decided to heat up the water for cocoa...they turned on the wrong burner. A few minutes later there was a huge crash. The pie plate had exploded all over the kitchen. No one was hurt but glass was everywhere.
The question I often ask my children is, "What did we learn from this experience?" Now I ask it of myself. Yes, I should have not procrastinated; I should have helped with clean up, ensured all the food was away, and that all the dishes were done prior to leaving. I should have waited to go see the fire until I had invited everyone to join me. I should have waited patiently for the right time to leave the house, instead of thinking I could escape without caring for everyone.
What do I do when this part of me that is stressed out from being responsible for other people, this part of me that hides from the pain of my situation or just gets lazy, this part of me that just forgets that I am in charge, when this part of me takes over? I don't often allow this impulsive crazy part of me be in charge; I know it won't yield good fruit but will only create more chaos. I realize that I am in major escape mode. I see it in what I eat, in that I am not sleeping well, in my desire to just forget that I have to figure it all out on my own now.
There is a place in me that can be quiet, can focus, can plan and can succeed. I just sometimes forget about it.
Father, help me to remember You when I feel so crazy inside. Remember Your patience, remember not to lose sight of the prize, and to be kind to myself as I am still growing and learning. Help me remember I don't need to have all the answers, I don't have to figure it all out. And that mistakes are not what define me any more than my successes. It is You who define me. For eternity I am Yours. Thank you.
I decided to watch a quiet movie when my oldest daughter called to talk. I knew we wouldn't have another chance for a week, so I stopped the movie to visit with her. I felt hemmed in at home, and decided to talk with her while I ran to the store for milk. I let the kids know I was leaving, but a few minutes down the road my daughter had to hang up. I decided to avoid responsibility at home; on impulse I took off down the freeway to see the big fire that had been burning at the local lumber mill. That was my first mistake. I left those rowdy kids home alone. Later I learned that they had been wrestling, and when one jumped on another's back, they fell into a wall. Now there is a body sized dent that will have to be sheetrocked and textured.
However, the fire was so incredible. I had to share it with the kids so I called them to meet me in town. My plan was to drive them to see the fire, then head back to town to get the other car. They met me in town as planned and we oohed and aahed over the huge fire. However, on the way back, I realized that no one had put the food away from dinner and the dog was in the house. That was my second mistake. While we were out, that rowdy dog put her huge paws on my new lovely center island table, gobbled up all the shredded pork, and scratched up my lovely table. Now I will have to sand it down and refinish it, or live with the deep scratches.
I was pretty mad after seeing the large hole in the wall and the table scratches. I gave the kids their jobs to do, and was heading down to watch my movie when my daughter-in-law called. She doesn't call very often so I opted to stop the movie and talk privately in my room. That was my third mistake. The kids were still a bit rowdy while they cleaned the kitchen and made cocoa. There was a glass pie plate on a burner, and when one of them decided to heat up the water for cocoa...they turned on the wrong burner. A few minutes later there was a huge crash. The pie plate had exploded all over the kitchen. No one was hurt but glass was everywhere.
The question I often ask my children is, "What did we learn from this experience?" Now I ask it of myself. Yes, I should have not procrastinated; I should have helped with clean up, ensured all the food was away, and that all the dishes were done prior to leaving. I should have waited to go see the fire until I had invited everyone to join me. I should have waited patiently for the right time to leave the house, instead of thinking I could escape without caring for everyone.
What do I do when this part of me that is stressed out from being responsible for other people, this part of me that hides from the pain of my situation or just gets lazy, this part of me that just forgets that I am in charge, when this part of me takes over? I don't often allow this impulsive crazy part of me be in charge; I know it won't yield good fruit but will only create more chaos. I realize that I am in major escape mode. I see it in what I eat, in that I am not sleeping well, in my desire to just forget that I have to figure it all out on my own now.
There is a place in me that can be quiet, can focus, can plan and can succeed. I just sometimes forget about it.
Father, help me to remember You when I feel so crazy inside. Remember Your patience, remember not to lose sight of the prize, and to be kind to myself as I am still growing and learning. Help me remember I don't need to have all the answers, I don't have to figure it all out. And that mistakes are not what define me any more than my successes. It is You who define me. For eternity I am Yours. Thank you.
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