In The Tent

Sisters In Arms

"Steppin' Out", Laverne Ross

Nine women have returned from the Ukraine, minds full of names and faces and hearts full of stories of sorrow and heartache and untold suffering.  The cup of life for the women of that country is overflowing with domestic violence, alcoholism and extreme rigidity and legalism, one of the many remaining strongholds of communism.

One of the most disturbing facts  that has come to light is the growing rate of Ukrainian women being sold into the sex trafficking industry. In 1998 The Coalition Against Trafficking in Women described the Ukraine as one of the largest "exporters" of women into the international sex industry. At least 500,000 women have been trafficked to the West under false pretenses since 1991. They, along with Russian women are described as the most valuable commodities in the sex trade.

Hired as housekeepers, nannies, models, waitresses they leave their homes and families and country eager for a new beginning. Hope. Freedom. Instead they are sold, enslaved, abused, tortured, raped. They are not alone. The reality of the trafficking of women and children is horrific. 

I don't really know what to say. I know less about what to do. But I'm going to start by acknowledging that it is so. And then I need to educate myself. And tonight, I'm going to remember and pray for those women......mothers, daughters, sisters, friends. Child of God.

Not commodities.

Heart and soul, living, breathing, thinking, feeling. Each and every one.

Monday Monday

"Letters from Home II", Liz Jardine

It's a cloudy rainy day here. I guess this is a state of the union post, a bit of an update of life in the past week and some of the incomplete ramblings of my mind.

Life has been really busy lately. Personal, ministry, work - the boundaries are becoming less clear though and it all just seems to be one continuous mission. One focus. One purpose. I like my life this way, less compartmentalized and all parts pointing in the same direction.  But it has been busy.

My friend L continues to struggle with her addiction and is in a particularly bad place right now. Tonight we are picking her up to take her to a detox facility. There is nothing more we can do for her right now. Except love her. And show her grace. And we will, but I really hope she shows up tonight.

Some of my thoughts are with nine friends, women, who are traveling through the Ukraine. Broken, wounded storytellers sharing all that they have with the women of that country. I pray for miracles, for divine and holy appointments that only God could orchestrate, and the most sacred of tent experiences for each one of them.

I have been reading Brooke Shields account of her struggle with post partum depression. She writes in great detail about the various infertility treatments she had to endure to get pregnant in the first place. This is going to sound terrible but as I was reading I found myself thinking, quit your whining. Now, I can say this because I have been through many infertility treatments and I know what she's talking about. But I had a really negative reaction to her description of her experience and wondered what the heck that was all about. Now I'm left wondering, was she whining or did I completely minimize my experience and downplay the actual toll that it has taken on  me. Did I just shoulder most of that myself, and spare the people around me the truth of how I really felt or how much it took out of me. Did I protect everyone else at the expense of myself. I don't think - no, I know - I didn't do that consciously but as I look back now I wonder if I even really understood how significant those years and that experience was.  I'm still not sure.

On a completely separate note, I've been thinking about marriage and ministry and work and life in general. I live in a marriage, in a community that believes in equality and respect in relationship. We don't always get it right, but we really do hold that up as the goal. But I've been thinking alot about what that really means practically, on a day to day basis.  How do a man and a woman live and work out of a place of egalitarianism. I know all the pat answers , all the theories, but I mean how does that really look day in and day out. I think this is where I am. Where we are.  I'm so thankful that this is the goal, the ideal of my relationship, but I'm coming to the realization that this is going to be a journey.

Anyway, that's kind of where it's at today. Another busy week is unfolding. Today is a day to try and recharge. Peace to you this day, whatever the state of your union.

All Things Mothering

"Mother and Child", Eng Tay

Today is Mother's Day. For some, this is a celebration. For others, this is a day of sadness, of struggling or broken relationships, of dreams lost, a mother's grief, a child's grief, of why's and what if's and wishes for something different.

For me, it is a combination of many thoughts and feelings and experiences. My mom lives on the other side of the country, so marking this day for her has taken on a different form from most of the mother's days we've celebrated together.  I, too, am a mother. But because of infertility, multiple failed IVF's, and miscarriage, my children are not with me. Fifteen in total. Little lights, spirits that I feel and know and miss from deep within me, even though we've never met. But God is gracious, and has filled my life with amazing children who I have very special connections with, children who seem to sense my loss and stand in the gap. Auntie S, spiritual mama to many. My innate need to love on, to care and nurture has been filled in the most unexpected and wonderful ways.

I can only imagine that every woman, every child will have a different experience of this day. So what is it really all about?

I think it's about honor. Whether you are celebrating or mourning, it's about honoring our experiences of motherhood.  Honoring our blessings, our losses,  our joy and sorrow, our mistakes,  our desire, honoring the journey of motherhood and our connection to it. Whatever that may be.

And so for me, for the special women and children in my life, the gift of honor.

For my mom, loving and mothering against great odds.

For K, the chance to do it differently, to break the cycle and create something new.

For J, an amazing mom, seeing love and your children and mothering through new eyes. You are wise and patient and nurturing and so determined to figure it all out, and I am so proud of you.

For J and B, celebrating the gifts of their own children but so deeply mourning the deaths of their own mothers.

For S, recovering from the loss that gave you even just the briefest glimpse into motherhood.

For L, struggling through addiction and mental illness and poverty, separated from your child today in an act of selflessness, a desire for her to have a chance for something different. A safe, loving and healthy childhood. The chance that you didn't have.

For S, grieving the body that will never produce children. You, too, are a spiritual mama of the most sensitive and loving kind.

For Gramma, matriarch extraordinaire, witty and wise and loving in your own unique way, and so inspiring.

And for Quinn, Alexis and Zane. Lauren and Geoff. Coreigh and Duncan. Daniel and Sarah. Justus and Jaymeson. Sofia and Tate. Little Miss Gabrielle.  For the privilege of sharing in your lives and loving on you, for dancing and silliness and endless questions, for some of the best conversations about life and God, for being teachers of some of my most profound lessons, and for just loving me back.

I honor each and every one of you.

Peace and love to you this day.

Out Came the Sun

"Fourmies a L'Ombrelle" - Ona

Brooke Shields was interviewed on Oprah today, sharing her story of severe post partum depression after the birth of her daughter two years ago.  She documents that in her book, Down Came The Rain, available in bookstores today. What an incredible woman, full of courage and perseverance and humility. I have so much respect for her, and her willingness to use her horrible descent into hell to break through the shame and silence, shine a light on this all too common illness and bring hope to its' sufferers. Hers is a story of hope. With medication, therapy and a strong system of support, she is emerging and recovering. She has finally been able to bond with her daughter, and there is even talk of a second child.

If you, or someone you know is suffering, tell someone. Get help. You are not alone. There is hope.

Peace, love and every blessing Brooke, to you and your family. And to every woman, child and family walking this path.

The Divine Feminine

"Mother and Child", J. Maitland

Grace, she carries the world on her hips....

U2

I have been thinking alot lately about the divine feminine, the femaleness of God embodied in me, a woman. And I notice that there has been alot of writing about that in the blogosphere lately, but quite frankly a good majority of it has gone right over my head. It hasn't resonated with me. And I have wanted to write about it but haven't been able to find the words to express what I feel.

This morning, this devotional came from Henri Nouwen's website, and something clicked.

....the feminine, in-dwelling aspect of God helped me to find the beauty and meaning of my tradition....I want to feel the beauty of God's presence in a way  I couldn't before, as an indivisible Oneness, a way of relating to each other at the deepest level of our humanity, a way of living, loving and caring for each other, our reason for trying.

Shelley Goldstein

This, I get. When I am doing my "thing" - leading at a retreat for sex trade workers, visiting friends struggling with drug addiction and the fallout of that, sitting with L in hospital, helping N set up her home after her breakup, talking late into the night with another, offering the gift of presence - that is when I feel the closest to God. That is when I feel like my soul, my spirit is in line with Jesus walking the path that I'm sure he would walk if he were here in the flesh today. My hands are his hands. My tears are his tears. My touch, my smile, my presence.....they are all his.

I am a bleeding heart by nature. I just am. If there's something going on, I'm in the middle of it. I'm not a sit by the phone kind of person waiting for a call if I'm needed. I'm already on my way over, convinced that there's got to be something I can do. Make tea. Hold a hand. Arrange flowers. Something.  It's in my DNA. My mother is the same way. At times it's been a source of concern for the men in our family. Out of concern, I have no doubt. But at the same time a sense that after some conversation there is an impasse. A point at which they can not and do not understand that drive that comes from deep within.

I know the importance of balance, of refilling, the difference between enabling and empowering, the difference between walking with and feeling responsible for. They are essential parts to living the way of loving and caring, living at the deepest level of humanity.

But today, something clicked. I embrace this part of myself. I celebrate it. It comes from a sacred place that runs deep. A place of commune, of  connection to God, of worship, of love-inspired faith in action, of living out those parts of God that may be different than my male counterparts but no less true. The divine feminine and the divine masculine coming together into the indivisible Oneness.  In every country, city, community, church, in every home and in every relationship.

Let it be.

Welcome

"New Butterfly", Anthony Morrow

.....litte Miss Telah.

You are a good and perfect gift.

Trading Sorrows, Trading Spaces

"Interiors", J. Dougall

I love decorating.  I love taking a space, no matter how big or small, and turning it into a place of rest or comfort or sanctuary. Putting a little vase of fresh tulips on my desk makes me want to go into the office and write, and can even make me think I have very important things to say. The same vase in my bathroom makes me want to take a little longer in the shower, makes me want to get out all my lotions and potions and buff and exfoliate and scrub and soak and moisturize. Valentine's Day is a reason to display everything hearts. Spring means fresh tulips, clean smelling candles and garden themed linens. Fall is the time for deep purple and rust colored mums and bowls of gourds and my decorative glass and iron squash.  I love printed paper napkins and have a weird thing for collecting dish towels.  My parents used to say I have champagne taste on beer money. Whatever. The point is I love to nest, to set up the nest and then settle into it.

When something has "gone a-muck" in the nest, I'm off. When there is chaos on the outside, it's chaos inside. It's true that I can be a little over the top with some things, and I do pride myself on being able to tell when a newly hung picture is slightly "off" -  even if it's just one-sixteenth of an inch. I can just feel it - and I'm usually right.

After several houses and as many years trying to create a home, I've realized that there is something more noble and mature going on in me than just selfish and abandoned consumerism. It's about creating safety and security and a place that nurtures me and a place where I can nurture others.  Celebration. It's about rest and comfort. It's an external picture of the internal transformation that has been unfolding for many years. It's creating that which escaped me as a child.

A constant reminder of the lavish nature of God's love for us all is how one friend describes it.

Over the past year I've had the privilege (and who's kidding who - the vicarious thrill) of helping friends who have been trying to get the external caught up with the internal.  L is recovering from an addiction and everything is new. Colors and sights and smells and tastes. Being reborn means learning about yourself, what you like to do, what you are passionate about, what your taste is, what nurtures you.  A dormant spirit meant a dormant, colorless exterior. But today there is color, warm reds and ochre and mushroom and taupe and olive and sage. Artwork that depicts music and passion and life.  Comfortable furniture and candles and books and journals for writing and cherished photos and a beautiful, well-played guitar. It has been like getting a glimpse into a soul, alive and kicking and growing, learning respect for herself and others, valuing life, believing and hoping for more.

J is a woman who sells her body for money for drugs to feed her body, her soul. Last week she told me that she is trying to fix up her tiny one room home, hoping that it could become a place that she wants to spend more time in.  And if that were true then maybe she wouldn't be tempted to go out onto the streets as much.  She asked if I would help her do that, help her make that room a nurturing, safe and restful home.

Yesterday I spent the day with N. She has just left a long term relationship and is beginning to face difficult issues of childhood abuse and family conflict that have followed her into adulthood.  She has bought a new home, and in many respects, is starting over.  Everything is new, inside and out. As we shopped and schemed and dreamed and planned layouts and colors and contemplated dishes and rugs and furniture, I couldn't help but think that we were also marking this painful but significant time in her life. How important ritual and  symbol are. Acknowledging the loss, but embracing the hope of something new, something better. And saying that we are with her in the process, with her through all the blood, sweat and tears of that day and all the days to come. 

Even Jesus talked about rooms. In my Father's house are many rooms, I am going there to prepare a place for you.  God uses the image of tearing down and rebuilding - walls, temples, cities - over and over to symbolize the end of something and the beginning of another. A symbol of a lesson learned, of growth and change, a marker of a new direction or path, a change of the heart.

The interplay of sorrow and joy, pleasure and pain. Transformation is a beautiful and sacred thing to experience.  Peace and love to each one of us in the process.