Posts tagged ‘feminist’

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April 8, 2012

Spirit Seed

I have just finished the book The Faithful Gardener by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, I highly recommend this read.  The powerful way she weaves story and prose and life places you in her remembering moments, and you begin to look for that which will never die, in your own life.

I am caught by a phrase at the end of her book where she has told of Uncle burning the field, and waiting for the faithful seed to come by wind, and bird and bumbling creature, to build a forest again.  They watch the field burn as they stand waiting for their war torn lives,  to be built again:

What is this faithful process of spirit and seed that touches empty ground and makes it rich again? Its greater workings I cannot claim to understand.  But I know this:  Whatever we set our days to might be the least of what we do, if we do not also understand that something is waiting for us to make ground for it, something that lingers near us, something that loves, something that waits for the right ground to be made so it can make its full presence known.

I am feeling the wind of this phrase in the quiet moments of my days.  Change is coming. I am not in control of the seeds dropped, I am only earth. I open and receive what the Ruach deposits.  I open and receive the rain the Father sends, I can do nothing more, nothing less.  I have allowed the Master Gardener to plow and burn the field of my heart, to make room for love to grow, now I wait and receive, that I might give to the seed he deposits.

Father, teach me to wait, that I might give.

Shared with Seedlings In Stone.

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March 8, 2012

If- The care of a soul

If the care of a soul (or a community) be entrusted to me,

and I consent to subject it to weakening influences,

because the voice of the world-

my immediate Christian world-

fills my ears,

then I know nothing of Calvary love.

Amy-Carmichael, IF

Proverbs 2:2  Incline your ear to wisdom and your heart to understanding

It is a privilege to be entrusted with a soul. To care for and nurture the inner man with weighty substance of things eternal.  The phrase:  “voice of the world” echoes deep. What are the sounds I have trained my ear to listen for?  Earthly pleasures? Pleasing promises? Accolades? Most worthy causes? Does my ear know how to pick out the phrases of a soul’s heart cry when the face before me is all smiles and “no worries?”  Do I discern the voice behind the words?  Do I listen for heart phrases, and silent sighs? Have I turned from the still and small to embrace the clamor and clang of man’s cymbal-lic honors, and tinkling praise? Oh Lord, let me not consent to weaken the message of hope, or bend under the pressure of the praise of men.  Let me fear The King, and know wisdom.  Let me love the silence between the words and know Calvary love.

Pro 9:10  The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom: and the knowledge of the holy is understanding.

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March 6, 2012

To Hatch A Soul

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.

C.S. Lewis

How do you hatch a soul?

Images of God as mother bird fluffed, brooding, stirring the nest he has made for us, peek over the horizon of my well defined God-caricature, threatening to take the paint brush away from me, demanding that I start again. This time with softer colors, and rounded edges.

God the perfect temperature.

God the perfect weight and balance.

God the nest builder.

God the patient, all things beautiful in His time,

Calls to me from outside the shell,

refusing to break it lest it make me weak,

and deformed in my understanding.

Calling, ever calling as I gasp

straining at air in the tiny

pocket of life as I knew it-

I must-

Break open, or die

BREAK open or DIE-

“I know the plans I have for you,”

says the Hatcher

“Break open and live,

Thoughts to prosper you-

Break open and live-

Give you an ending to what I have begun-

Break open to live”

God the dream maker spreads his wings over my hatching,

shielding my nakedness from the prying eyes of

unbroken ones.

God the hatcher of my soul,

Keep me in the shadow of your wings,

under the watching of your eye,

where my soul can find it’s trust to break

in the rhythm of your love.

Mat 23:37  O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that killeth the prophets, and stoneth them that are sent unto her! how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!

Sharing This Today with:  http://seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com/

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February 29, 2012

Aint I A Woman?

As we leap forward today, I couldn’t think of a better Mother to lead the way.  Enjoy!

Alice Walker Reads Sojourner Truth

Sojourner Truth (1797-1883): Ain’t I A Woman?
 Delivered 1851
Women’s Convention, Akron, Ohio

Well, children, where there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. I think that ‘twixt the negroes of the South and the women at the North, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what’s all this here talking about?

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain’t I a woman?

Then they talk about this thing in the head; what’s this they call it? [member of audience whispers, "intellect"] That’s it, honey. What’s that got to do with women’s rights or negroes’ rights? If my cup won’t hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn’t you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?

Then that little man in black there, he says women can’t have as much rights as men, ’cause Christ wasn’t a woman! Where did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back , and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them.

Obliged to you for hearing me, and now old Sojourner ain’t got nothing more to say.

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February 28, 2012

If-The noise of rain…

If I cannot catch “the sound of noise of rain” ( 1Kings 18:41)

long before the rain falls,

and, going to some hilltop of the spirit,

as near to my God as I can,

have not faith to wait there with my face between my knees,

though six times or sixty times I am told “there is nothing,”

till at last “there arises a little cloud out of the sea”

then I know nothing of Calvary love

–Amy Carmichael IF.

I come to this devotion trembling.  Here is the heart of the matter. I may have faith to hold steady for six but sixty? The long hours of hands extended to the Father, believing for the promise and the answers come back…no change.  There is nothing.

The seeds of accusation that lie dormant in my heart in those seasons of well watered presence, come bursting to life at the first sign of drought to choke out beauty and faith with their thorns. The slanderous lies against the knowledge of the love of God that hurls against my soul with gail force winds, revealing that my anchor has lost it hold on the cross beam of Christ, and I am adrift in the sea of forgetfulness.

The warrior king and  psalmist of Israel must have rowed  many a dark night’s journey in these soulish waters.  His tongue the pen of a ready writer recording for posterity the words of Psalm 103.  I imagine the trumpet call of battle as he commands his soul to bless the Lord, and forget not all his benefits.  His words take shape in the form of  the war trained hands of a weathered captain who has ridden many storms without loss of life or cargo.  Who knows how to crest each wave with a firm grasp upon the wheel.  With each thunderous crash I can feel the voice of the psalmist raging against the relentless, assaulting waves:

“The Lord is gracious and compassionate!” The wheel threatens to rip from his hands as he steadies for another crest.

“Slow-w-w to anger, and RICH in LOVE!” With a creak and a groan the ship lifts from the depths of the swell and is thrust forward with vengence.

“He knows our frame…” The ship pitches and rolls, “we are but Dust”.  There in the knowledge of our creator, and the uniqueness of our frame,he throws out the  anchor as the penetrating rays of the light house warn of the rocks of despair and once again hope is set on the one who is the everlasting God, and Father, who rewards us not according to our trangressions .

I know our Savior rowed a long Gethsemane night, sweating drops of blood at the stern of his soul, until he could say with perfect peace. “Not my will but yours be done” and he showed us Calvary Love.

Oh Lord. Keep me ‘steady as she goes’. Lord I believe, help my unbelief.

Posted in Notable Sayings, Poetry, Sister Sages, Uncategorized | 2 Comments »

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February 24, 2012

And After-The voice of Mom.

I Kings 19:11-12

-and after the wind an earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire;and after the fire a still small voice.

The still small voice is the “Bat Kol” of scripture. The daughter voice of God. The gentle, soft feminine, almost an echo. The nurturing sound of a Mother’s heart. I wonder …

What are you doing here Elijah?

I am empty, and I couldn’t find you-

I am not to be found in manifestations of power alone Elijah…there is more to me than wind,earth,fire-

What are you doing here Elijah?

I am hurting, and alone.

You are not alone, there are seven thousand who haven’t kissed the hand of Baal.

What are you really doing here?

I need to know you.

I  knew if I came you would meet me- and I am tired.

I want to come home.

I just marvel that God chose to speak to Elijah in the feminine soft whisper of the Bat Kol in Elijah’s moment of deepest despair.  From that voice he received instruction, encouragement, rebuke, and purpose.   God has given us to the earth to share that part of His heart.  We as women can speak to the pain and despair of others from a personal place of knowing that envelops the broken and lifts up the weary hands that hang down, and propels lives back on the path of living.  If we could see sorrow as opportunity to grow in the ministry of “voice” how many more Elijah’s would move from their caves of resolution to anoint kings, mentor disciples, and be caught up to heaven in chariots of fire? In our words lie the power of life and death, choose life!

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February 20, 2012

I am a size 8. Do I still have your heart?

Girls being force-fed for marriage as fattening farms revived

Campaigners in Mauritania accuse the new military regime of turning a blind eye to a cult of obesity among young girls being groomed for suitors, where a woman’s size indicates the amount of space she occupies in her husband’s heart.

Here is a headline you don’t see everyday, or any day for that matter. Especially here in the oh so ever size conscious USA.  I am aching tonight over the articles I have read regarding the status of femininity world wide.  Here in America we  see that discrimination exists in pulpits, offices, paychecks and some social settings, but no one is making my ten year old grand daughter marry a 3o year old man in a mass wedding, or suffer female genital mutilation to be “sexually controlled” , or strapping bombs to her body,wrapping her in a blanket and sending her in to mine fields to make a path for the “holy” men to follow.  I do not have to worry that my propane stove has been rigged to explode because I was seen talking to my male neighbor outside my driveway.  But this is a reality for the majority of my sisters.  In an Arab report concerning the status of Arab women this quote was made: ( http://www.memri.org/report/en/0/0/0/0/0/0/1689.htm) 

“It is said that women must be ‘tamed’ like horses and other animals – and this ‘taming’ is carried out by using violence against her, until her independent spirit – including her thoughts, her aspirations, and her dreams – is ‘murdered.”

I have carried in my heart the pain of the female plight since the day I was four years old and took a switch to the neighbor boy who was torturing a stray momma cat for the fun of it.  He was twelve and twice my size, but I chased him a block to his house tears streaming down my face and the backs of his legs showing red welts where my switch had hit him.  I got in trouble because “girls don’t act that way towards boys, and did I want him to do something bad to me when my mom or some adult wasn’t around to protect me?  I should be careful.”  I was four and I knew what I had done was justice and right and I also knew there was something “bad” about the fact that I was a girl.  Then I found out

who we are.

The journey of discovery in this mystery of our creation has enthralled and challenged me and caused me to fall in love with The God of  Creation all over again.  By design we are valiant, strong, perceptive nurturers, life givers, first waters, origins of truth-and we have an enemy.  More vile and deceptive than we know.  He waits to devour every creative birth we labor to bring into the world. Every aspect of beauty he seeks to mar, each piece of wisdom he seeks to twist, every strength he tries to shackle all in the name of order, protocol, tradition, and  honor.  These men have bought in to these lies because they have cast away from themselves the Ezer-Kenegdo, the help-meet, the one suitable for them, the one whom God designed to guide, protect, soften, nurture and keep them in the ways of the Creator.

Today the burden of my prayers for us  has overflowed and I have shed the blood of my eyes…tears.  In the ancient Hebrew Picture language that is what tears are called. The blood of the eye.  No wonder our

Beloved stores every one we weep in a bottle, they are precious reminders that we are alive.   I have pondered why today?

Why is the groan so strong in my soul?  Why am I keening an ancient song?  My thoughts have turned to this morning, and  the four young

girls in service  who found their way to my lap and my arms. Looking into their faces so free, and real and knowing there are other faces being forced to eat  their own vomit in order to be “beautiful enough to marry.”   Mothers, aunts, uncles, fathers and brothers buying in to the deception of the father of all lies, the original murderer of the image bearers,  and allowing him to seek  and devour the glory of God in this earth.

I held these daughters who don’t belong to me a little closer to my heart today, praying that they will find their

own willow switch.  Praying for courage to  chase the ugly lies that have already begun to whisper to them, out of their hearts forever.  But, what of Mauritania’s daughters? Who will carry them?

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/mar/01/mauritania-force-feeding-marriage

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