So, dear men who read that which I write, men whom I love for all that you are and not an ounce more or different than that, tread carefully. Should you read on, you will find out more about women - or, at least, this woman - than I am almost certain you actually want to know, about a side of me I go to pains not to display. Maybe there is some insight in what is recorded here that is for you, but I think more likely not. In the following lines I will address women, as a woman, and on a level few, if any, men can understand. This is all I will say on the subject:
Guys, here there be dragons.
Ladies, I hope that the revelation I have experienced is translated accurately here. I hope that you find within it such significance as I did. As I do. I hope that you find it as wonderful and liberating and beautiful as I do. I know that some of you believe and feel differently from me: I hope that in spite of those differences, that you can understand and share in my joy. I'm done qualifying. Let's begin.
I've had less than my usual cause to speak of late. Partly, my new affinity for silence has to do with everything I've been thinking about, some of which I've recorded here. I'm becoming increasingly fascinated with people and the stories they tell, which means I talk less and less. Mostly, my newfound capacity for silence works in my favor, allowing me to listen to people, a pastime I am coming to adore more with each passing day. But in other circumstances, it's very difficult. It's difficult, for instance, when you're in a movie theater, waiting for the previews to start, sitting next to a great person of whom you would earnestly know more, whom you find fascinating, but who is also silent, when you can think of nothing at all to say because all you want to do is listen and absorb all they would say, but don't.
But my recent silences have been the soundscape to a profound philosophical journey, one still stolidly in progress. One I may never complete.
Journeys are difficult to encapsulate in words like this. I'm not sure where the start of the epiphany actually is. I guess...well, as good a place as any is with my ulterior motives for taking a Bible study class.
I've been in this course on Esther at my mom's church. I think I mentioned that last time. I signed on because the woman who wrote the study is famously generous with juicy historical tidbits, ancient cultural traditions, and foreign languages. In other words, I took it to learn. Should I feel my heart tugged a little closer to God's in the process, so much the better. But I wasn't really planning on it. (Don't worry, girls. I won't preach. This note isn't about that.)
Anyway. This study. It wasn't until the second or third session that I realized the subhead of the study is "It's tough being a woman." I mean, it's written on the cover of the workbook, but that's just me being generally unobservant. ...And not doing my homework in the workbook. Because I procrastinate. Lots. I'm, like, three weeks behind right now.
Each week's lesson is headed by a topic sentence based on the study's overall subhead. For instance, the first week's was: "It's tough being a woman in another woman's shadow." And it is, isn't it? We are constantly in unconscious or conscious competition with one another, for attention, for looks, for grace, constantly attempting to one-up each other rather than accept one another. In many situations - not all, I realize, perhaps not even most - we're small, mean creatures driven by our own insecurities and fears. It's hard to be outshown.
The next was "It's tough being a woman in a world where beauty is a treatment." In other words, where beauty is something you DO, not something you ARE. I had never thought of it that way before, but that is indeed the world in which we live, no? No matter what we do to make ourselves beautiful, how much time and effort and money we put into our appearance, we always feel like some other girl is more beautiful than we are. For every room in which two girls sit, there are two girls who feel that they are the ugliest one around. Face it, ladies. We live with the constant thought that we are inadequate, not enough, that any guy we meet can never think we're truly beautiful, that they're lying when they say they do. These irrational insecurities are bred into us, ingrained in us, viciously conditioned into our psyches, from day one.
I know, a weird focus for a Bible study, right? Moore, the study's author, said that there are four types of women:
1. The woman who wants everyone to think she's beautiful. She is a miserable woman.
2. The woman who wants all men to think she's beautiful. She is a dangerous woman.
3. The woman who wants none to think she's beautiful. She is a terrified woman.
4. The woman who hopes a few somebodies to think she's beautiful. She is the woman we all want to be, the woman who is secure, the woman who is thoroughly convinced that she is loved.
It is hard to exist in a world where we, as we are, will never be enough. We will never be pretty enough, thin enough, blond enough, charming enough, smart enough, good enough. Even the most beautiful woman we've ever see, who set our innards aflame with jealousy and our eyes aglow with admiration, is not enough. We are all in this weird little depressed boat of perceived inadequacy together, you see.
Ladies, do not misread me. I know that most of these acts and emotions are largely unconscious and culturally unavoidable. I am guiltier of them than most, I think. I know that we are not all petty, small, backbiting drama queens. But in all of us, there exists this consuming need to be more than we can ever possibly be, according to the standards of the world.
Our culture actively robs us of our dignity, of our integrity, modesty, purity. Again, don't jump ahead. I'm not going to sit here and shout puritanism or abstinence at you from some ivory tower. Screw abstinence. (Ha.) I mean the dignity, etc. of our souls. The pressure to be hot and riveting in all respects 24/7 is crushing and devouring. It absconds with the integrity present in security, the purity of being nothing but who we are, modesty in covering ourselves and knowing we are beautiful - for when we dress according to how the world dictates we should, all cold and cleavage, we are saying, in effect, "I agree with what you, the world, think of me. I agree that this is all I am worth." Not to say we shouldn't dress fun, or sexy, or whatever. Just, you know, those chick boxers? Those go under your pants. They don't actually count as pants in themselves.
So, with what are we left? We are inadequate, will never be unconditionally loved by our men, and are without even a reserve of dignity to call our own, having surrendered every ounce to the standards of the world. Here's where some of you may write me off.
We are left with all we ever had in the first place. We are left with God.
Allow me a tangent. Hugs are my pretty much my favorite thing. Studies show that humans need four hugs a day to survive; eight to achieve mental stability and twelve to incite psychological growth (NCBI, pubmed.gov). I certainly don't get that many - I don't think I know anyone that does. And, ladies, I know you'll agree with me on this one - nothing can relate to getting a great hug from a man, even if that man isn't your significant other. There is one man I know who gives the best freakin' hugs in the world. I think his embrace is so profound partially because his and my relationship is completely platonic, and I trust him explicitly. I could fall asleep in his arms, unashamed, without worry or miscommunication. But, on some level, that hug would still, somehow, fall short. It wouldn't be all a hug could be, even though his embrace is one of the greatest things I've ever known.
Tangent to a tangent, then wrap around to the point, I promise. They say that writer's write what they know. I agree, and would add that writer's cannot help but write what they know. A few nights ago, in one of those beautiful trances where I typed, eyes closed, the words I had not planned, to the story I, somehow, did not orchestrate, I wrote these lines. I hesitate to place it here, on the net, but when I read back what I'd written, it struck me, and I think it helps my point here:
"In the blink of an eye he swept me into an embrace, his arms tight around my back...His grip was strong and somehow desperate, as if he needed to be hugged as hugely as I did. When he did not slacken, I relaxed into that embrace, my head on his shoulder, free at last to confide the extent of my weakness, to be understood, to be protected, to be without fear. I wept onto his shoulder then, for some unknowable span of time. Perhaps it was just a moment; perhaps years passed us by in that clearing by the pool. Never did [his] arms slip from around me, and his breath was warm and sweet on my hair. The blessing of that moment, however long it actually was, is that I did not feel awkward. He hugged me tight, and I lost myself in his arms, not as a lover or a sister or a daughter, but simply as I was, with no role or expectation to uphold. It was pure, and it was all I had."
Doesn't that sound lovely? To be loved without expectation, without demand, to be, at last, enough?
Beth Moore wrote, "Christ is not ashamed of us...I [thank] Him for being the kind of King who gives a woman dignity instead of taking it, a righteous King whose commands are always for our good and whose ways are always toward our wholeness...Our God views women with purity, not sensuality...King Jesus gave Himself in greatest love for His bride so that He could cover us with garments of salvation and robes of righteousness."
How lovely an idea is that? How powerful, how freeing a concept.
I've been reading this book by Wm. Paul Morgan, called The Shack, that's presented some very interesting ideas about God. I have yet to take issue with any of the postulates the pages contain, though the book has caused some controversy in more uptight Christian circles. (As far as I'm concerned, if you're Christian, you can't afford to be uptight; you've lost too much social ground already, you know?) The premise is based on a man, Mack, whose young daughter was kidnapped and murdered, and his great loss. He visits a shack in the woods and there meets God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit. The proceed to discuss all manner of things. This is a passage I read the other night; it's kind of long, but bear with me:
"What do I do when I get back? What do you expect of me now?" [Mack asked.] ...
"Mack," [the Spirit] began, "you must forgive these two. Humans have a tendency to restructure language according to their need to perform. So when I hear language abused in favor of rules over sharing life with us, it is difficult for me to remain silent...Why do you think we came up with the Ten Commandments?"
..."I suppose, at least I have been taught, that it's a set of rules that you expected humans to obey in order to live righteously in your good graces."
"If that were true, which it is not, [the Spirit] countered, "then how many do you think lived righteously enough to enter our good graces?"
"Not very many, if people are like me," Mack observed.
"Actually, only one succeeded - Jesus. He not only obeyed the letter of the law but fulfilled the spirit of it completely. But understand this, Mackenzie - to do that he had to rest fully and dependently upon me."
"Then why did you give us those commandments?" asked Mack.
"Actually, we wanted you to give up trying to be righteous on your own. It was a mirror to reveal just how filthy your face gets when you live independently."
"But as I'm sure you know there are many," responded Mack, "who think they are made righteous by following the rules."
"But can you clean your face with the same mirror that shows you how dirty you are? There is no mercy or grace in rules, not even for one mistake. That's why Jesus fulfilled all of it for you - so that it no longer has jurisdiction over you. And the Law that once contained impossible demands - Thou Shall Not... - actually becomes a promise we fulfill in you...But keep in mind that if you live your life alone and independently, the promise is empty. Jesus laid the demand of the law to rest; it no longer has any power to accuse or command. Jesus is both the promise and the fulfillment."
"Are you saying I don't have to follow the rules?"
..."Yes. In Jesus you are not under any law. All things are lawful."
"You can't be serious!"
..."Mackenzie," [the Spirit] continued, "those who are afraid of freedom are those who cannot trust us to live in them. Trying to keep the law is actually a declaration of independence, a way of keeping control."
"Is that why we like the law so much - to give us some control?" asked Mack.
"It is much worse than that," resumed [the Spirit]. "It grants you the power to judge others and feel superior to them. You believe you are living to a higher standard that those you judge. Enforcing rules, especially in its more subtle expressions like responsibility and expectation, is a vain attempt to create certainty out of uncertainty. And contrary to what you might think, I have a great fondness for uncertainty. Rules cannot bring freedom; they only have the power to accuse.
"...Mackenzie, I will take a verb over a noun anytime...I am a verb. I am that I am. I will be who I will be. I am a verb! I am alive, dynamic, ever active, and moving. I am a being verb...And as my very essence is a verb," she continued, "I am more attuned to verbs than nouns. Verbs such as confessing, repenting, living, responding, growing, reaping, changing, sowing, running, dancing, singing, and on and on. Humans, on the other hand, have a knack for taking a verb that is alive and full of grace and turning it into a dead noun or principle that reeks of rules: something growing and alive dies. Nouns exist because there is a created universe and physical reality, but if the universe is only a mass of nouns, it is dead. Unless 'I am,' there are no verbs, and verbs are what makes the universe alive.
"...For something to move from death to life you must introduce something living and moving into the mix. To move from something that is only a noun to something dynamic and unpredictable, to something living and present tense, is to move from law to grace. May I give you a couple of examples?"
"Please do," assented Mack. "I'm all ears."
..."Then let's use your two words: responsibility and expectation. Before your words become nouns, they were first my words, nouns with movement and experience buried inside of them; the ability to respond and expectancy. My words are alive and dynamic - full of life and possibility; yours are dead, full of law and fear and judgment. That is why you won't find the word responsibility in the Scriptures.
..."Religion must use law to empower itself and control the people who they need in order to survive. I give you an ability to respond and your response is to be free to love and serve in every situation, and therefore each moment is different and unique and wonderful. Because I am your ability to respond, I have to be present in you. If I simply gave you a responsibility, I would not have to be with you at all. it would now be a task to perform, an obligation to be met, something to fail.
...Let's use the example of friendship and how removing the element of life from a noun can drastically alter a relationship. Mack, if you and I are friends, there is an expectancy that exists within our relationship. When we see each other or are apart, there is expectancy of being together, of laughing and talking. That expectancy has no concrete definition; it is alive and dynamic and everything that emerges from our being together is a unique gift shared by no one else. But what happens if I change that 'expectancy' to an 'expectation' - spoken or unspoken? Suddenly, law has entered into our relationship. You are now expected to perform in a way that meets my expectations. Our living friendship rapidly deteriorates into a dead thing with rules and requirements. It is no longer about you and me, but about what good friends are supposed to do, or the responsibilities of a good friend."
"Or," Mack noted, "the responsibilities of a husband, or a father, or employee, or whatever. I get the picture. I would much rather live in expectancy...But...if you didn't have responsibilities, wouldn't everything just fall apart?"
"Only if you are of the world, apart from me and under the law. Responsibilities and expectations are the basis of guilt and shame and judgment, and they provide the essential framework that promotes performance as the basis for identity and value. You know well what it is to not live up to someone's expectations."
..."Are you saying you have no expectations of me?"
[God] now spoke up. "Honey, I've never placed an expectation on you or anyone else. The idea behind expectations requires that someone does not know the future or outcome and is trying to control behavior to get the desired result. Humans try to control behavior largely through expectations. I know you and everything about you. Why would I have an expectation other than what I already know? That would be foolish. And beyond that, because I have no expectations, you never disappoint me."
"...You've never been disappointed in me?" Mack was trying hard to digest this.
"Never!" [God] stated emphatically. "What I do have is a constant and living expectancy in our relationship, and I you an ability to respond to any situation and circumstance in which you find yourself. To the degree that you resort to expectations and responsibilities, to that degree you neither know me nor trust me."
"And," interjected Jesus, "to that degree you will live in fear."
Jeez, that was long. I wish that was online somewhere so I could have just copied and pasted. Ah well.
It struck me like a train to realize that Christ, Him who I can call Father, has no expectations of me. No demands. No restrictions or standards. Just love. And that all He would ever have in return is love, and even that in whatever dose I am able to give. That I could curl up in His arms and have all that my little trance-driven snippet longed for, and more than I could ever grasp.
"Fear not" is the most frequent imperative in Scripture. As humans, we are all, to some extent, motivated by fear. ("It is tough being a woman in a world the idea of femininity is to be weak and vulnerable.") When Esther went to King Xerxes, it was not the fear that she might be killed that stalled her. To go before the king without a summons was certain death. She only had in her the hope that she might, somehow, be spared. She said famously, "If I perish, I perish."
This sentence follows the general structure of critical thought: "If...then."
In our fear, it is not enough to trust God that He will never allow that which we fear most to happen. That is conditional faith, and a glaring chink in our spiritual armor wherein the Enemy can gain a foothold.
What do you fear most? If you lost everyone, then what? What would you do?
Writhe in heartbreak? Then what?
Sob until you have no more tears?
Then what? After innumerable contingencies, you come to standing up, to breathing past the ache. Not to moving on, but to living.
If...then, God.
The word "courage" comes from the Latin word "cor," meaning "heart." Courage comes from a heart that is convinced it is loved. You know the adage: "Courage is not the absence of fear, but the judgment that there is something more important than fear."
Esther's "If I perish, I perish" philosophy does not give us license to live foolishly, Moore explains. It means we do not live fearfully; that we do not live in constant fear of death and so not live at all. Esther "overcame herself," says Moore. Indeed, in all our callings, often our greatest obstacle is we ourselves.
One of my greatest fears is the romantic relationship. I have yet to overcome myself in that arena, but I'm in no particular rush. I've been around the dating block, so to speak. I've dated a colorful expose of the male species: the dork, the mountaineer, the disturbingly suicidal, the hopelessly romantic, the abusive psychotic homicidal alcoholic. Some of those relationships were good; some weren't so good. From all of them, I learned something. But now I've learned again what God has been teaching me all my life, in a myriad of curricula: that His is the only love in which I can ever be wholly secure. That His is the only perfect embrace.
-Avalon, out.
Write as if everyone you know were dead.
"And this, wonder of wonders: the He called me, 'beloved.'"
A page is like a heartbeat.
