Goddess

photo by itjournalist, flickr

A few weeks ago, my daughter said to me, "God is mostly a man." I don't remember what prompted this statement. What I remember is that we were in the bathroom, I stopped breathing for a few seconds, and then I bent down to look her in the eyes and said, "God is as much a woman as he is a man" (yes, I believe I said "he" - it's hard to change those pronouns). "Sometimes I picture God as a woman with long flowing hair, and I call her 'She' instead of 'He.'"

My Girl seemed taken with the idea that God could have long flowing hair (I'm pretty sure she was picturing God as a princess). It makes me want to have Goddess images in the house so it's not so foreign to her (and me) to picture God/dess in feminine ways.

I remember a time in one of my seminary classes when the professor asked us to draw a picture of God. I think we were discussing the stages of faith development and how as we move through the stages, our picture of God becomes less concrete. So in that class, we all drew very abstract pictures full of color and movement and symbols. But no person. No man or woman (not representing God, anyway). We had all moved beyond the childhood stage of picturing God as an old man with long white beard, hadn't we? We certainly tried to show that in our art. God is Not a Man, we seemed to say with our abstractness. But God is Not a Woman was also implied. And true. God is neither Man nor Woman.

But in some way, God/dess is Both.

I went to a seminary that used inclusive language (we didn't refer to God as "he" or "father"), which I appreciate.  It was something I hadn't thought about until I went to seminary. I am thankful for the lens this language gave me, but removing pronouns from our language about and with God/dess is still problematic to me. When we always use "God" or "Godself," it seems to make God/dess a bit distant from us. I would never call someone I know by their first name every time I talk about them. It sounds weird, and it sounds impersonal. I don't know why; it just does. It emphasizes God/dess's otherness, making Her more distant, and it never provided me with an alternative feminine image to the dominant male one.

I had one professor who called God "Herim" and "Herimself." It was a good try, but that sounded even weirder.

I don't want to inadvertantly emphasize God/dess's distance with my words, so I come back to calling God/dess "She" and "Goddess" for now. I hear and read "He" and "God" all the time, so I don't feel the need to balance my personal language with masculine words. On the contrary, I feel the need to inundate myself with feminine imagery - not because it's better than masculine imagery, but because it is so foreign, and it shouldn't be.

So last week I drew a picture of Goddess in my art journal. A concrete picture of a woman with long flowing hair and wise wrinkles and a small smile. I am not an artist - not one who can draw, anyway. The picture is pretty juvenile-looking. But part of me wants to tear it out and frame it to show My Girl that This, THIS is how I picture God. Or how I try.

The Voice

I was privy to a church staff meeting (because it was at my house - just planning, no confidential stuff) that involved the staff working on an upcoming worship series they're basing on The Voice, that singer competition reality show. I must've rolled my eyes a dozen times at the concept (I don't care for the show or for the relating it to worship) before it hit me - that's my word for 2012. I guess I didn't connect the two because they seem so far removed from each other - the title of a reality show and my scary desire to have a louder voice. I didn't even hear that they were the same word.

The focus of the worship series is different than my own focus. The worship series (as I understand it) will focus on hearing the Voice of God and responding to that Voice.

I, on the other hand, am just trying to have a voice. Not the Voice of God(dess), just my own voice.

It would be nice to hear the Voice of God/dess, though. That Voice can be so hard to distinguish from all the other voices, even voices claiming to be That Voice. Maybe if I heard The Voice better, then I would be more confident in my own voice. Or maybe not. If Scripture is a reliable guide, then sometimes the Voice of God/dess asks you to do crazy things (poor Jeremiah). I'm not really in the market for crazy; I just want to be less scared.

I want to hear the Voice that whispers words of beauty and strength and care for the world. I want to hear the Voice that winds its way through the valleys and the mountains and the arid places. Most of all, I want to hear the Voice that is for me, the One that roots me to the earth and stretches out my fingertips.

I say a prayer each night for My Girl, that God will be before her and beside her and behind her and within her, showing her the Way. That's The Voice I want to hear.

And maybe, just maybe, if That Voice tells me something crazy, I'll be open to hearing it.

So perhaps this year I'll modify my focus. Instead of "I want to work on my voice," I'll say:
I want to have a voice, and I want to hear The Voice.

And maybe I'll roll my eyes a little less during that sermon series. Maybe.

voice

The other day I almost shared a NY Times article on my facebook page. Almost...but then I didn't. Because it's about Stephen Colbert, and I was afraid someone would be offended. Even though I found the article fascinating, and I think that it would be fascinating across political lines, I didn't share it in case someone would get offended. In case someone would be mad at me for posting an article about a sometimes controversial figure. In case someone would not like the fact that I think he's hilarious, and talented, and thoughtful, and possibly a genius.

Last year I deleted at least two blog posts after publishing them because I was afraid someone would be offended. Afraid someone wouldn't like what I said about the church (something about how it sucks being in a minster's family sometimes - I don't even remember what it was specifically). Afraid someone wouldn't like a particular political stance (illegal immigrants and the people who support them are not horrible anti-American people - it was kind of a rant). Afraid someone somewhere might not like what I say and cause conflict because of it.

I hate conflict.

I want a nice, smooth, drama-free life. I don't want to have to defend myself. I'm not good at debating. I don't mind when people disagree with me; I just want to be allowed to disagree in peace, and I will go to ridiculous lengths to protect that peace. Ridiculous lengths like refusing to post an interesting article.

I've always been the quiet, wallflower type. Even in a room full of my best friends, I'll be the one who hardly says a word. I'm good with 3 or 4, but more than that and I clam up. Not intentionally. I just lose my voice. I think about my words too much, and then the moment passes.

A couple months ago, my pastor asked me to preach in February (he'll be gone for a few weeks and is inviting some women to preach). I told him I would think about it, but inside my gut was screaming, "What will I say?!?" And then the fall semester got crazy in its mad dash to the end, and I thought, "I won't have time to figure out what to say!" So I told my husband I didn't think I would do it. No time. Too much stress. But really I was thinking, "I don't know what to say!"

So a month or so goes by. I read Sue Monk Kidd. I have a break from school. I suddenly feel words bursting in my head. I worry about the message my daughter is getting about being a girl. And I think, "Maybe I'll do it after all - I want my daughter to hear I have a voice." But my husband has already told our pastor that I said No, and the preaching spot has been given away. It's too late. The moment has passed.

Because I was afraid.

Well, I don't want to be afraid of my words (or lack of them). One of my new year's hopes is to speak up more, to "be bolder, more honest, more kind, more challenging, more real, more intentional." I don't think this means I need to start facebook debates (ugh...just ugh), but I would like to feel more free to express what's in my head and my heart. I don't think I'll feel it, though, unless I do it.

So I have a word for 2012. I'm only now getting around to posting it because finding (and speaking) words will always be slow for me, but my word for 2012 is VOICE. 

Mandy Steward at Messy Canvas has picked "vulnerable" as her 2012 word, and she makes a beautiful list of reasons she wants to be vulnerable, including:

• to feel things out loud with less apology.
• to say the things no one else will say because they are meant for my saying them.
• to live my self-reliant aloneness out amongst intimate community.
• to learn not to cower when I make a mistake, feel embarrassed or when I anger or disappoint someone.
• to be known.

Her whole list is beautiful, evoking a life of genuineness, community, care, courage. These are things I want more of. Things I want to model for my children. Things I want to grab hold of for myself. Things I want to offer my small world. Things I can feel Herself holding out to me. Things that will not happen if I sit quietly in a corner with my head down.

I will try this year to work on my voice, so that fewer moments pass me by, so that I look more like Her.

"I raise my foot to pound the earth, beating the earth to all the rhythms of living.

I feel the warmth of it, the raw edges of eternity scraping against my bones.

My skin shimmers with sacred light, for I look like She, the one who is ancient and alive;

 I am made like Her the Holy. I reflect Her face.

She fills my lungs with holy breath and says:

Arise, my love, awake."

                                                                                 - Rain, the sacred life

what you are is AWESOME!

Sillysaurus who didn't know he was extincted
by My Girl

Silliysaurus was a fun dinosaur. He had wings that could fly. A fluffy tail. Yellow spikes. Green featers. Sharp teeth. Lumps of stone and was very colorful. Everyone loved him ecsept Nate Smith Penderwick. He knew everything just about everything. He wanted people to know that Sillysaurus was extincted. He tried with all his might. But no one will listen to him. "I'll listen to you." said a voice behind him. It was Sillysaurus. Nate told him all about dinosaurs then he knew that Sillysaurus himself was extinted. But he didn't care. Then Nate didn't either. And thats how they became friends. The End.

I love My Girl!

it has begun

It has begun.

The semester from hell, that is. At least, that's my fear. If it's not that actually that bad, then I can only be pleasantly surprised, right?

I got up (at 5:30!) with a sense of dread this morning. I am not ready for this. I am not prepared for the sheer number of hours I will be in class. Or the lack of hours I will be at work. Or the papers. Or the studying. Or the care my child needs. Or the wedding I am so excited about (not mine, obviously!). I have all these plans for this semester (organize! care! socialize! date! fun!), and it all seems so impossible.

If anyone tries to quote that "All things are possible..." verse at me, I will not be held responsible for my response! Because I'm pretty sure Paul would not care one lick about my scheduling issues, and he'd probably say something to me that would make me want to smack him upside his head. And really, I should not smack a saint, right? That's not good mojo. I NEED good mojo right now.

This semester is four months long. I'll survive four months of madness, but I hope I'll do more than survive. I want to dance. This life is wild and precious, and I don't want to miss it.

what YOU ARE is beautiful

Today on the way to school, you said to me, "Do you know that I don't like school?" Yes, dear, I know. Because you tell me almost every day. 


And my heart weeps.

You used to like school. Heck, you used to love school. And you still run off the bus smiling on most days so I'm not yet worried that your spirit is being completely crushed. But still you regularly tell me that you don't like school. Because on some days (though not every day), you believe that no one likes you. Your teacher, your peers, your BFFs. You tell me, "No one understands my heart; everyone blames me; they think I'm a dull person."

And my heart weeps.

We make a 2012 goal list, you and me. I write down 3, and you write down 3. One of yours is "make more friends."

And my heart weeps some more as it cries out, "Dear God/dess, please don't let her be lonely!"

"I'm just an oddball," you say.

And while my heart still weeps, I hear myself say, "Well, I'm an oddball, too. And that's OK. Being an oddball is good. Being an oddball is great, even!"

You're not so sure about your oddball mother, but I want you to believe me. I want you to believe that being different is not bad. I want you to believe because it is true. I don't want you to be like everyone else. I want you to be you.

You are My bright, vivacious, fierce, grab-life-by-the-horns-and-don't-let-go-even-if-you-must-kick-and-scream Girl. You are My Girl who loves princesses and dress-up and batman and cars. My Girl who draws flowers and wants to wear make-up. My Girl who plays with transformers and builds with legos (the non-pink kind). My girl who tears down the road on her scooter and picks out tunes on the piano. My Girl who laughs uproariously and My Girl who rages uncontrollably. You are My Wild One. And you are Beautiful.

But already you hear the voices that tell you differently. You are only 7.

And so my heart weeps.

And I wonder if one of the voices you hear is mine. Do you hear me say, "Calm down, C. Don't climb on me, C. You don't have to say everything you think, C"? Do you hear my own insecurity, my own fear, my own cynicism, my own blindness? Have these voices served to quell your wildly beating heart?

I pray not. I pray to God/dess that the other words, the "You're beautiful, C. You're special, C. I'm so thankful you're my daughter, C" words are the ones you hear in your heart. I pray that you will hear words that give you strength. And confidence. And hope. That THOSE will be the louder voices in the end.

But it's a struggle to hear those words. It's a struggle for me; I'm sorry it's a struggle for you.

I will try every day to make my words count. And on most days I will fail. But I will try, and I will trust that other voices are added to mine. Other voices with loud, encouraging, building-up words. Other voices that are the Voice of Her.

I wish I could make it easier for you, My Angsty One. I wish I could make it better. I wish I could make them all love you, damnit! But most of all, I wish I could ensure that you love yourself.

In the words of Rain at the sacred life:

"Breathe deep, brave one, and let holiness drape all over you, for you are a sacred space, marked and remembered and loved before the foundations of the world. 

You are a beautiful, earth-pounding warrioress."

What you are is beautiful.

what it is is beautiful (part two)

Yesterday this article arrived in my inbox. It's about a newly-published biblical commentary that is "by women and for women" and seeks "to counter a prevailing view of women’s equality in the church and home." One of the editors, Rhonda Kelley (wife of a Southern Baptist seminary president) says that "in many situations our women students have been raised by mothers who were a product of the feminist movement, and so even their Christian mothers didn’t fully understand what it meant to be biblical women and they were rebelling with the world." (!)

The other editor, Dorothy Patterson (wife of another Southern Baptist seminary president) says that in the book of Esther there is "a section on beauty treatments and what Esther went through and the archeological evidence that shows exactly what that is, and you find our first excursus on submission. Most people don’t think about submission as being a topic in the book of Esther, but it is clearly in the text. I think our readers will find it interesting to see how you take the Old Testament roots for something that is very heavily discussed in the New Testament."

First of all...both editors need an editor.

Second of all...WTF?!?

Rachel Held Evans points out here (in a critique of another recently published book - ugh) that calling Esther a story of submission "fails massively to understand the context of that story." Good Goddess, I do not want Esther to be raised up as a model text on marriage. She was forcibly taken from her home to live in seclusion in a harem and eventually married her husband after he slept with a gazillion women and picked her as the best at sex and make-up. Then she risked death by illegally requesting an audience with her husband in order to challenge his genocidal order to exterminate the Hebrew people. Yeah...what a model of submission and marriage.

Frankly, I don't think there are any models of marriage in the Bible that I want to follow. Most biblical marriages are, thankfully, far removed from us (polygamy, women as property, stoning for adultery, rape). And in the New Testament we hear next-to-nothing about specific marital relationships (for instance, did Mary and Joseph have a good marriage? Who knows!? It must've been a weird one). Yes, Paul goes on a bit about women submitting, but as far as I know, Paul was never married (and if he was at one time, his wife doesn't seem to be around for all that letter-writing). Paul, anyway, is a mixed bag, because he also refers to women being equal (Galatians), women being apostles (Junia), women teaching men (Timothy...though I know complementarians would tell me Timothy was a boy when his mother and grandmother taught him faith, but that's a silly argument - boys become men and what they learn in boyhood is as or more important than what they learn as men - we know about childhood development these days), and mutual submission (Corinthians).
 
But I digress, as NONE of this is what I intended to be blogging about. Though womanhood was, marriage and biblical interpretation were not. I was just so freakin' annoyed angry, I guess I had to spew it out!
 
Thankfully, my daughter will likely never (or rarely) hear someone tell her she needs to submit to her husband (or any man) because he's a man. Thankfully, my daughter will likely never have a man tell her he won't work with her because she's a woman (as happened to my chemist mother). Thankfully, my daughter will likely never be told certain occupations (even pastor) are unavailable to her because she's a woman (well, except for football, and I make a declaration right here that My Son Shall Not Play Football, either). Thankfully, we know there is another way, and that feminism is not "rebelling with the world."
 
What it is is beautiful.
 
(to be continued...again)

what it is is beautiful (part one)

Yesterday I read this Julie Clawson post about the current trend to market pink, princessy legos to girls and other legos to boys (in contrast to the pictured add from the '80s).

For the past month or so I've been reading Sue Monk Kidd's book Dance of the Dissident Daughter, which is about her spiritual journey from patriarchal establishment to the sacred feminine.

During Advent/Christmas, I've thought a lot about Mary...who she was, what she did, what patriarchal tradition has done to her.

And in recent weeks, I've started addressing God as Goddess.  Yes, Goddess. Why not? Since God/dess is neither male nor female but both are made in the in the image of God/dess, why not use the feminine word rather than the masculine word? We don't have a neutral word, and I'm not sure we should. Why not have both?

It feels weird, though. It doesn't come naturally. I've become used to addressing God as Mother God, but "Goddess" seems a little more...um...radical. Why is that? Because my culture (even my "moderate" church culture) has engrained in me that God is male, and my intellectual belief otherwise doesn't change my gut reaction to the word God - an envisioning of divine maleness. And of course Jesus is male, Jesus who is the divine. Jesus is a man. I won't start calling Jesus a woman, I promise! But I need a feminine picture of the divine as well.

Why? Does it matter?

Yes, dammit! It matters!

It matters when society says that girls (and boys) should look and act a certain stereotypical way, and the church confirms and supports that. It matters when the only (or vast majority) of voices we hear from the pulpit are male. It matters when my daughter says she won't be a pastor because "that's a mostly man thing." It matters when I cannot get the image of God as a white man with flowing white beard (skinny Santa Claus) out of my head. It matters when I can count on one hand the number of female senior pastors I know (3...I know 3. I know OF more than 3, but I only personally know 3, and I went to seminary...I know a lot of pastors). It matters when the only pronouns I hear in worship and devotion are masculine. It matters.

A lot.

Because we are created in the image of God/dess, too. And we matter. A lot.

(to be continued)

a new year

Hello, 2012! And hello blog...it's been a while. Life got crazy busy there for a while with school and work and home and holidays. And it's about to get even crazier as this spring semester is supposed to be the hardest of my program. But I have one more week before that crazy hits, so let me take a moment to consider this new year.

Ann Voskamp said recently "The New Year wears hope like a fragrance." I've been taken with that image this week. Hope like a fragrance. Here are some of my fragrant hopes for this year:

• Date more! A plan is in place for this. We're going to trade babysitting each month with some sweet friends so we should get at least 6 away-from-home dates this year! And I've made a list of stay-at-home date ideas, too. I made us our own Can of Dates for creative dating. I'm hoping we can have a little more fun, experience a little more joy together this year.
• Socialize more. Not sure how this one will happen, but I hope to get together with people more often this year. To cultivate community.
• Rise early more. Specifically: get up at 5:30 (or earlier) at least 5 days a week. Crazy, I know, but it makes me feel more ready for the day if I get up early enough to do a little workout, pray a little prayer book, and get lunches ready without the stress of rush, rush, rush.
• Write more. Not necessarily on the blog, though maybe. I also want to be more disciplined about writing in my one-sentence-a-day (or thereabouts) journal for each kid, and I've started a spiritual art journal for myself. Writing is a hard discipline for me (particularly when you add necessary school writing to the mix), but I want to do it.
• Pray more. See hope #2, but also with my children. I've started praying more with The Girl about specific concerns she has (she's had a hard time socially this year...I wish she weren't so much my child in this way), and it seems to genuinely help her. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but prayer is one of those things I feel very unsure about. But I'd like to work on my spirituality this year...not just reading others' spiritual words and reflections and analysis...but cultivating my own.
• Manage time more. I'm not naturally a scheduler or a list-maker, but I'm finding it more necessary these days. Particularly when my school schedule hits (which will basically put me away from home for full-time hours in addition to time needed for schoolwork), I'll need to be very disciplined about balancing home maintenance time, family time and homework time.
• Speak more. This will probably be the hardest one for me. I do not speak out loud easily...either in print or in person. I weigh my words very carefully, and then often don't say them. So I want to cultivate my voice. To be bolder, more honest, more kind, more challenging, more real, more intentional.

These are my fragrant hopes: I think of them as a light spicy scent, invigorating and centering.