yes...and no {five minute Friday}

I'm back.

and I think five minutes just might do for a perfect start.

because right around five weeks ago, I had another baby. and it was a long road, not five minutes, but seventeen days of groaning and laboring and prayers of sweet Jesus, please, let it end, bring her here, let it end. 

but we got our Shiloh. 7 lbs, 2 oz. we got our "one the whom the holiness is promised." and she is perfect and big sister is in love and so am I and so is my husband.

{I'll blog her birth story soon, I promise}

but then I was no longer pregnant. so the voices started clamoring. it didn't take long, and I'm not sure how many of them were in my head vs. actually shouting in the real world. part of it was the hyperemesis and the inability to do just about anything for so long, and then the prodromal labor, which took away the rest of my strength.

and it sounded tempting, these invitations.

come do this.
be this. 
do this. 
be this.
come back now be with us now come do everything you have been doing and haven't been doing. 
now. 

{photo via Unsplash}

and I started saying yes. louder and quicker than I should have.

and it got dangerous.

my physical health was important, of course, but that wasn't the biggest worry. the biggest worry was my mind, my heart, the breakdown that comes when we take on too much, say yes too quick and too loud and realize that we just aren't ready for the yes-ing to start. not yet.

so I'm saying quieter yes and remembering to speak no a little louder and a little firmer.

I just got back to my life, and it's different now. we have two little dove daughters, our wildflower girls. one turning three in a matter of weeks, my Marian with her big blue eyes and wild curls and a vocabulary that terrifies even talkative me. and then little tiny dark haired LoLo with her coos and wide awake watchful eyes and her gentle infant nursing sounds all night long.

yes and no.

both important. both beautiful.

both in their time.

I haven't done five minute Fridays in a very long time. I haven't really blogged in a long time but that isn't the point. the point is: I'm back and it feels good. and starting here, one of the places where my blogging got its start, feels fitting and beautiful and like a returning to myself again. so join us here, write in five minutes, and find the beautiful again.

I've missed you all :: I look forward to getting to know all of you again. 

the blessing of more

{via pinterest}

"can you show me the sign?"

my own words hit me in the face as I asked my toddler daughter to recreate the ASL word for "more," tapping her tiny fingertips against one another. she was asking for another cracker, another drink of water. we've been teaching her these simple little signs since she was barely old enough to hold up her head on her own. and now here, as we approach the second year of her life in a matter of weeks, she still knows every gesture.

please. thank you. milk. more. 

that last one still takes my breath away.
let me tell you why.

::

I remember seeing her, sitting casually on a too-tall barstool, her tattoos clearly visible, her blonde hair fresh with pink and purple streaks. she looked like a vision of everything I wanted to be. there was about fifteen of us gathered around her, listening to her speak over us.

her words caught me off-guard.

I want you all to see me as more than just the founder, more than your coach, more than a published author. I want you to see me as more than just that. see me as me, okay? 

the concept was so foreign. it didn't feel right. surely she misspoke. because how could any of us do that? she was all these amazing things, this powerhouse badass of a woman who had come up gasping from grief + destruction + hardship. she was a phoenix. how could I see her as "just her"? that was a disservice to her greatness.

wasn't it?

and this thing of her -- just her -- being more. I didn't understand it.

except then I sat down on the couch with her and looked into her eyes.

// how are you? 
// how are you? 
// how are you?

and then it started to click.

::

"can you show me the sign?"

that simple little phrase knocked me back. as I watched my daughter's baby fingers form that word in the chaos of my lunchtime kitchen, I found myself breathing a blessing over her.

you are more, Daughter of Eve. 

you are allowed to ask for more

and that more is you. 

you are Lion-breathed, filled with wild Holy breath from the lungs of the Most High

what more does anyone need but 

just simply you? 

dwell in your muchness, your more-ness. 

oh my daughter, accept the blessing of more. 

the one where I talk about sex {again}

{via pinterest}

let's talk about sex.
I'm serious.

it's everywhere.
I'm serious about that too.

but you know something else?
it's also a really big secret.
{especially in church}

I grew up in a world where gateway drugs weren't seven-leafed plants held rolled and drooping between teenage fingers. it was the fingers themselves that were the problem. because if skin touched skin, that was the start of a slippery slope...

...a slope that led to bodies and skin and nakedness and words that were alluded to, but rarely spoken aloud. just in case there was someone listening. and the idea of it being mentioned in church? never. just in case God might overhear.

we talked about purity, of course. about guarded hearts and the mystery of a man with a woman and the way it should be for marriage. but what, exactly, should be for marriage? we were never sure. not really.

it was all a mystery. until churches and white dresses and rings slipped onto sweaty fingers and hotel rooms where the door shut with a heavy thump...

...and then it was still a mystery.

because it was a secret until that minute, except that everyone seemed to have forgotten the "sex kitten" potion that was to transform a blushing new bride and a nervously fidgeting groom  into ravenous sexual creatures. they forgot about what happened when the door closed and we stood there with shuffling feet and the acute awareness that there was nakedness under our clothes.

this is the part where I am supposed to present a solution.
the only one I have is for us to talk.

we have to stop making little words that start with "p" and "v" and "s" into dirty unrepeatables that linger like forbidden fruit squashed into pulp on tongues. we have to find that line and realize that it's written in the dirt, not carved into rock.

we need to talk.
with words, not euphemisms and "when you're married, you'll understand."

because it doesn't work that way.

we need to talk.
about sex.
about penises and vaginas and hormones and sex. hear me say it. sex.

because the most important thing is a heart.
not a hymen.

the oft-repeated refrain

{photo taken by me}

if you asked me what makes my heart pound, I'd tell you that it's women. if you asked me what pushes me to write when the words feel dried up, I'd tell you that it's women.

if you asked me what's blocking my words right now, I'd tell you that it's fear.

I'd tell you that I'm scared that I write too much about the same thing, that I bombard the world with the same concept over and over again. I'd tell you that I swell with fear when I think about speaking about the way that I've changed, the way that my eyes are wider open now because He smeared mud over my blindness.

but I think you already know that.

I'd like to tell you that I write elegant, put-together and composed ideas about egalitarianism and Biblical feminism. I'd like to tell you that I'm good at gracefully pondering these ideas with highlighter pens and stacks of books that pile around my ankles.

but that wouldn't be the truth. and you already know that, too.

I'm the kind of woman that sits on her couch with her legs crossed while her child sleeps in the room above, sipping a long-cold cup of coffee as she types the words "you are worthy" so many times that she starts to think you might be sick of hearing them already.

and then something crosses my path that reminds me beyond the shadow of a doubt that you cannot remind someone of their worth enough times, that you cannot repeat the same tender invocation too often for the soul to not absorb it like water in the salt pans of Africa. it comes in waves, these whispering calls to arms.

I'm no Joan of Arc, but I think I understand her sometimes, the way she sat with the unpopular call of God shivering through her very blood. and that's where I am today, sitting on the edge of my soft green couch while my child sings her own made-up songs to herself above me. I'm walking with Joan but in the opposite direction. because today He's calling me to put down the sword. there's been enough blood today, enough caustic words burning acid marks into souls.

today I'm letting the sword rest beside the water. and I'm holding you close and whispering the words I've said a thousand times. I'm dipping my fingers into the sea and running them through your hair, smoothing down the edges that can cut us both if we're not careful.

I'm resting against the Lion's side, and it's warm and good. and I'm speaking the words He spoke in oft-repeated refrain.

all things are made new. 

in His image, we are created. 

female, yes, female too. 

He is worthy. 

and you, beloved daughter, are worthy. 

me, a Jesus feminist {the becoming}

when my friend Sarah Bessey wrote a book, I clicked pre-order the minute the button turned green. after this was done, I sat on my couch and cried. the tears were desperately needed. there was freedom twenty years in the making behind that click.

the name of the book was Jesus Feminist.

it arrived on my doorstep on November 6th, this yellow book with the big black letters, the symbol for femininity right next to the symbol of my faith. I opened the book, and my eyes found the first line of the first chapter :: Jesus made a feminist out of me. and something inside me gasped like a man drawn out of the ocean.

it was an answer to everything that had been brewing inside me since the moment I realized that Jesus Christ didn't see me as less because I was a woman. 

when you grow up a woman in the conservative Church, it's hard to feel like you have big things inside. it's not always intentional, sometimes you don't even realize that it's happening. but it's easy to fall into the idea that since your body curves where a man's does not, that since your pronouns are she and her, you were birthed to be a stumbling block.

somehow it got put into our heads that feminism was the opposite of appropriate femininity. somehow the word became trampled and twisted underfoot until it stopped being recognizable as anything but ugly. 

but it's begun to occur to me that He spoke "woman" when everyone else was crying "girl," not as a word of derision or as a caustic word spit out in the direction of the "weaker sex," but as a badge of honour. He touched us when others shied away. His words of "follow Me" fell on female ears as well as male. there was no line in the sand with the Son of God.

{photo by me}

“we reject the lies of inequality, we affirm the Spirit, we forgive radically, we advocate for love and demonstrate it by folding laundry, and we live these Kingdom ways of shalom prophetically in the world.” 

Sarah Bessey :: Jesus Feminist

I find myself leaning against my husband more these days when we sit on the couch, tentatively asking if he approves of this new wild me, this new feminist wife, so different from the one who cried during her wedding vows, and yet, so completely the same. and he's supportive in every way he can be, even if sometimes it's just a hand on my arm or a kiss on the side of my head in the silence past midnight. 

and so here we are, standing on the other side of a book that changed the way I see the other Book that has been in my grasp since the days of pattered Bible covers and sword drills. I'm standing here on the beach while the Son of Man makes breakfast for all the ones who follow after Him, male and female alike. 

Sarah's book opened my eyes. but this Jesus Christ, this Prince of Peace and Word Made Flesh.

He's the one that made a Jesus Feminist out of me. 

the start of the melting

{via pinterest}

i remember the day that i melted. i think i will always remember. it was the very first day that i dared to question what was laid in front of me. i was seventeen with eyebrows tinged white from the missionary mime make-up. it was merely days after the quietest moment of my life. my toes were on foreign soil, in a land that has forever woven a spell over my heart.

it was the night of the talk. you know the one. we were gathered together, boys and girls and men and women. the words spoken to us were inspirational. at the time, they conjured something different than they would now. it was a type of shame, it made us blush. but we knew the drill :: we'd all heard it before, and the feeling it brought was familiar. they talked about shirts too low and jeans too tight, they looked us dead in the eye and told us to protect our brothers.

they taught us how to hug, arms draped around the shoulders from the side, never too long. they taught us about closed doors and warnings and dreaded plane trips home should we embrace too long, should a boy-toe ever enter the room of a girl. 

and then the talk ended and the mood changed. there was laughter and friends chatting during a short break, an appropriate hug exchanged here and there, but everyone was careful. it was ingrained. we knew what to do.

and then came the mention of the yearly mother-daughter cruise. there were cheers. there was excitement. and then the lights dimmed and the slideshow started to roll. and something inside me melted like wax.

the fabric was bright. blues and whites and yellows and greens and pinks. typical bikini colours. it was a cruise after all, all full of mothers and daughters bonding together. and they were on a ship in the ocean, and BarlowGirl was singing, and the girls were wearing bikinis.

i felt his hand on my shoulder, my friend, my heart-brother. i remember the look in his eyes, the way he whispered with head buried in hands, peering up at me through his fingers,

are they watching me? is this a test? i don't know where to look.

i remember when the lights came up and the burst of courage filled me. i was seventeen. i had never questioned anything before, not like this. but i couldn't let it go. i couldn't forget that look in his eyes.

with shaking fingers, i walked to the woman who ran the show, the one whose face we all knew, the one who smiled at the door each morning and spoke God to us each night. i touched her arm and took a deep breath.

"i'm sorry. but that didn't seem right. not after what you just said. all those girls in bikinis, the guys were confused. i was confused. i don't understand. it felt wrong."

i knew what i was expecting. i was expecting an answer, an easy one, some sort of explanation as to why. but she looked at me and pursed her lips and said, the Devil likes to cause turmoil at times like this. we don't need that kind of attitude here. 

i cried that night into my pillow, my roommates gathered around me with their hands on my back. it didn't feel right to them either. they told us not to look, they told us to keep our eyes closed and bodies covered. they whispered shame but screamed contradiction in our faces.

but what could we do? we were just teenagers. we were just girls.

i was so confused, everything all twisted up inside. was this what purity meant? i always thought it was something holy, something bright and white and glorious. i didn't know it then, but this was the start of my uncovering. my casting aside the millstone and taking a lighter yoke on my shoulders.

at the airport, two days later as we all winged our way from South America to long-missed families, my soul-brother hugged my neck.

i've never forgotten.

this is why i'm a Jesus feminist.
this is why i fight.

slow-stepping out the shadows, allowing the dark soul-night to teach me something. i'm learning how to put a face to the shame, slipping a voice against the palm of the voiceless.

{this is a piece of my journey. join with the wild mystics for a deep journey into the dark night}

laid bare :: in which i learn that courage groans

{photo of myself, courtesy of nikki} 

sometimes being brave is easy. 

you know what you want to do, and you take first one step and then another and suddenly you're across the bridge without a second thought. and your footprints are there, and looking back, you're aglow with what you have done.

you were brave without realizing. 

and then comes the hard stuff, the realities as the glow of bravery washes away and you realize that not everyone see the same footprints you do. you see the whole path, the big picture, and they see the toe marks in someone else's way.

yesterday, i made a choice. a choice to drop every facade, a choice to dare and be brave and be luminescent :: woman. i chose to live what i have been speaking here for the past several months. i chose to pose semi-nude. 

and i didn't just do it to say i could, but for the hearts of the woman i have held in my arms as they weep and whisper, i starve because i am starving. 

and so i laid myself bare. no make-up or jewelry, no primping save a brush through my hair. there were no touch-ups to take out stretch marks or freckles or those things that i try to cover up with my fingers with down-turned eye and whisper, don't look.

and i closed my eyes and burst into smile and climbed the summit to meet my Savior there in a hush of holiness and a gentle murmur of "on earth as it is in Heaven."

and i met stones on the way down. 

they had their points and they had their reasons and they had their laid-out plan. and i can't help but respect conviction, because after all, i have my own. and it was my husband who stood up with his hand on my shoulder and took the step in front of me and took so many extra arrows in the chestplate, my warrior-man. and i did the best i could, but i sat down and shook with weeping because it was just too much to bear. 

{photo of myself, courtesy of nikki} 

and my dear friend wrapped arms around my shoulders from across the United States and spoke softly to my soul, 

courage doesn't always roar

sometimes it whispers, sometimes it groans

but it is still courage.

and it came from all sides, from the east and the west. 

:: brave. brave. you are brave.

and it came from His own lips, too. 

:: My daughter is brave

and i knew it would happen, but i didn't expect the intensity of the ache. and i knew it would be hard to be brave, that the journey over seemed so easy but the path down the mountain was a rocky tumble. 

so why did i do it, then?

because you are beautiful. i promise you are, dearheart. 

and i'll do whatever it takes for you to see it for yourself.

my daughter drew life from this body, whispered into my being by the Breath of the Lion. and she changed my visage, my skin, into a portrait made with blue eyes and soft red hair and baby's breath on my neck. and i fit no molds, not that i did before, and i'm learning to be okay with that. 

i am my Beloved's, radiant and adorned. 

thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.

:: song of songs 4:7

// // 

{i want this to be a gentle place, a place of love and respect. if you have something to say, please say it with love and words seasoned with salt and Life. i have disabled anonymous comments because honestly, i am still learning to be brave, and i think you should, too. if you don't want to write your response publicly, my inbox is always open to you. i also have a zero tolerance policy for fat-shaming, victim-blaming, "slut"-shaming, etc.}

metamorphosis

{via pinterest}

metamorphosis. this has become my state of being, my mind-set.

there is so much about this place, this condition of womanhood set upon me, that i have grown to fear and grown to loathe. but this cannot be. how can i raise my daughter to love herself, to face the world with a lifted head and a cry to the heavens, if i do not believe it myself?

i ache to redefine womanhood. i am more than tatted lace and teatime socials. i yearn to let my hair down and dive in, swim down deep, to drown in His spirit and rise anointed from the ashes holding the hands of those who walked before me. 

Hosea whispered, 

He will come to us like rain. 

and i want to dip my head back, mouth open and eyes aglow, and take Him in with my whole heart. i want to be baptized in the water and fire that is His glory. i am unwilling to wrap myself in a veil that He tore in an impossible way for me, and if only for me, it would have been enough. 

and so i am breaking from this place of stagnant dwelling, this place of sit here silently. i am a Lioness, He promised, and renewed i shall be. 

paint scales on my skin, for i shall be a mermaid. 

no fear of depth, great fear of shallow living. 

:: a paraphrase of a quote by anis nin

i will be a mystic, with candle light and war paint mingling on my cheeks. and i will lift my small hands and place them against His pierced palms and speak bravely. 

mermaid girl come to drown

to rise again. 

to live mightily. 

for my God hears me. 

diamond strands

{via pinterest}

i am woman. 

hear me roar.

mew. 

because roaring is hard sometimes when the world is whispering, "women who aren't good enough should be seen and not heard." 

i feel tugged, stretched, a fragile strand of priceless diamonds pulled too hard until...

and then comes the snap, and the clatter of gems across a hardwood floor. the tears come then, as i gather the sparkling remains of what could have been in my palm and weep my own diamonds from heavy eyes and realize that it was nothing but fakes. 

and i hold up my twisted string and cubic zirconia in shaking hands to the One who saw me before the beginning of the world. and the Maker of All, the Mighty One, reaches down and takes my bits of nothing and holds them in His nail-pierced palm. 

and then He speaks. 

not broken. Restored.

not desolate. Renewed.

not forgotten. because I have known you long.

not dirty. washed in My blood.

not forsaken. Mine. 

not abandoned. not ugly. not worthless.

Lioness. Warrioress. Princess. 

{via pinterest}

word upon word, reminder upon reminder from this God-Who-Sees. and plastic turns to diamonds as He whispers life to me.

He places the strand around my neck, mended and true and glorious. and that bleeding, broken hand of Glory lifts my chin to meet His gaze.

dearest Daughter, I knew you would not be long in coming to me. 

joy shall be yours.

::horse and his boy, c.s. lewis

and i step out to sing with His diamonds around my neck. and when the mirror screams a horrid chant of all that it claims i am, i can meet its gaze with the Glory glittering against my skin.

i am woman. 

hear me Exult! 

send it off // unafraid

{via pinterest}

i stand amazed in the presence 

of Jesus the Nazarene.

and wonder how He could love me

a sinner condemned unclean.

i've been singing these words all morning, my own private worship service.

see, i've been pouring over my old manuscripts in recent days, repeating to my husband over and over again my goal for this year. i will finish one of those novels, and i will get it printed in fine, smooth paper glory in a tidy stack and i will send it off.

send it off. three little words that can strike a lot of terror into my heart. because i've sent my work off before, eager and excited, only to be greeted with the stilted words of the form letter.

thank you for your interest, but...

and then two became three, and now little fingers pat my cheeks and big blue eyes meet mine all day every day. and spit-up covers first one clean blouse and then two and then i'm down to just my yoga pants and that last black tank-top, and bedtime comes exhausted with no writing done.

and i am left with more time to fear in the silence when he snores and she snuffles and the ceiling tiles number twenty-seven in the dim light from the softly murmuring television set.

there are times i press my hands to bathroom tile while the hot water pours down over my head and masks the tears as God and i share a private moment of anguish because His will is perfect, but oh, it is so hard sometimes to see the road less traveled becoming the one i'm called to take.

:: but oh, the glory.

{my little reader}
photo property of DramaticElegance

because i have so many hands on my shoulders, helping my arms reach upward when i get so very tired and all i want to do is toss the papers like confetti to the wind. and i have soft chubby fingers on my neck and little squeaks in my ears, and reassuring words of the man who pledged eternity to me, and there's soup on the stove and coffee in the pot.

so i'll take the leather bound book and i'll brainstorm while they play together on the floor. and i'll write.

because that's what this year was about. it was about release. letting go of what holds me back, standing strong on what He said and living life free without fear.

send it off, daughter.
let Me show what I can do.

and under my breath, in the silence, i'll stop counting ceiling tiles and chant like a warrior instead

oh, how marvelous
oh, how wonderful
and my song shall ever be...

a letter to you

{via pinterest}

dear you,

yes, you. you beautiful one, you earth-shaker, you mountain-quaker. you with the feathers in your hair, you with the baby on your hip. you with the tattoos on your skin, you with the long hair and the ankle-length skirts.

you tucked in the corner with the tsk tsk tsk ringing in your ears because you said that one thing too loud when they said to be seen but not heard. 

women of the world, you are real. 

 :: don't let them force you to disappear. 

they're the ones adding millstone to millstone in a necklace of death that will end with a broken-hearted "depart from Me." 

they're all about death, these shadow voices that would rather keep you masked and silent. He was all about life and broken stones with the keys of Hell in His fist.

they made their list and ran off with fists raised high and left Him standing at the table with tears running down and a gentle you left Me behind. 

they don't read the red letters, do they? if they did, they would know that there was a perfume vial --the most expensive, the most precious. and it spilled over His feet as a broken woman with whore on her forehead in invisible ink and invisible fingermarks of men who were not her husband covered her body. and she prophesied to the world of His dying. 

{via pinterest}

and that was a woman.

and you are a seeker. 

i wrote it before {here} and i'm writing it again now, word for word.

we are women. we are vessels, full of Him and aching to overflow.

we are brave and strong and beautiful and beloved.

we are more.

///

{this thing of beauty, of strength, of true womanhood has been on my mind these days. i'm praying ceaselessly as a project begins to form in my heart and soul for the coming weeks. would you join me on your knees before the Throne, sisters, for wisdom and grace and so much unceasing might from the Hand of the King?}