Women- We Need to Tell Our Stories

I grew up in Texas, which is an extremely oral culture.  We tell stories.  We tell little stories about the people who used to live in the house on the corner or the football game when we won the state championship.  And we tell BIG stories about our history – about the battle at the Alamo; about being a country before being a state; and about Texas legends like Travis, Austin, Crockett, and others.  Telling stories in my culture is vital.  It is as much a part of Texans as breathing.

I also grew up in a story telling household.  We heard stories about ancestors who fought in the Civil War (or the War of Northern Aggression as some of my relatives call it), my dad juggling a watermelon and dropping it all over the kitchen floor as a kid, and an intriguing story from my Great Aunt Edna about the little people who lived in the moss outside her window. 

These stories are a part of me because they are part of my story.  My life story.  The story of me.  It is an important story because it is my story.  And to honor it – I have to tell my story.  A huge part of my story is my faith in God, my being a follower of Jesus, my devotion to my vocation, my growing up in Texas, and my love of family.  Telling the story of me and my faith journey is essential. 

I teach my students to honor their stories.  I teach them to be proud of their journey – their life journey and their faith journey.  And I teach my preaching students to tell the Gospel story in profound, personal, and relevant ways.  Telling stories is important in the life of the church.  The story of the Hebrew people makes up the Old Testament, the story of Jesus is told in the Gospels, and the story of the early church is recounted in the Epistles.  These stories are important to read, hear, and respond to.  They are the stories of our faith.

Yesterday, I spent time with a group of women attending the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia’s Women’s Day event.  We talked about the stories of women from the Bible – Eve, Esther, Rachel, Leah, Elizabeth, Sarah, Mary the Mother of Jesus, Salome, Mary Magdalene, Dorcas, the Samaritan Woman at the Well, Priscilla, Huldah, the Woman with the Issue of Blood, Mary and Martha, and others.  It was a powerful time of conversation.

We also talked about the importance of honoring these stories and the women’s own stories in the life of the church.  Some of these stories are told in the church on a regular basis – in worship, in preaching, in study, and in communal gatherings.  But unfortunately many are not.  Women’s stories are often either omitted or told only to forward the story of the male characters in the story.  At the very least women get their stories told on Women’s Sunday or Mother’s Day.  Some churches are much better than this – thank goodness – but some are not.

Today, we also hear women’s place in society and their rights to make decisions about their own lives being bandied about as political power plays.  Whether you agree or not with the topics of debate – the way men in power are talking about women without asking women to participate in the decisions is repugnant. Women are being silences in many of these discussions.  We ought to be able to tell our own stories and have a role in the decisions that affect our own lives.

We have to tell our stories.  We have to tell the stories of women in our lives.  We have to tell the stories of women in our faith journeys.  We have to tell the stories of the women of the Bible and women who have and are leading the church.

Women’ stories are important.   ‎A friend shared the following quote from Muriel Rukeyser on my Facebook wall today - "What if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open."

Our stories are the stories that would split open the world.  Our stories are the stories of the world – the stories of the church – the stories of us. 

Tell them – often and everywhere.  Tell them.

Winter at the Beach!?

Going to the beach in the winter is not something I had ever thought much about.  In the best of circumstances I am not really a beach person.  I do not like the feel of sand in my clothes or between my toes.  I do not drink tropical drinks with little umbrellas in them.  I am not a super strong swimmer and the rough surf beats my knees up.  And I do not like to be in the sun too much.  I have, however, been on a number of beach vacations with family and friends.  Mainly I go to the beach because of my son and my friends.  They like the beach – in fact, they love the beach.  My son loves the water, making sand castles, riding a boogie board on the waves, and flying kites at the beach.  Me ... not so much.

I like being comfortable. I like TV, the Internet, my comfortable chair, and good leisure times.  But roughing it is not something I do.  And my definition of roughing it is pretty narrow.  I always say roughing it is staying in a hotel without room service.  So beach going is not really my "thang."

So when I found out the second leg of my Wabash Pre-Tenure Seminary Faculty group was meeting at Mustang Island in Texas – in the winter - I was less than thrilled, but open to going to a place 60 degrees above where it was at home when I left. So I thought I would give winter beach going a try (plus we are required to attend as part of our fellowship).

So off I went to the beach ... in the winter ... in Texas.

The first afternoon I walked the beach with one of my Wabash colleagues and caught up on job and family stuff.  It was a great visit.  I took pictures of birds, waves, and sand dunes.  I listened to the surf and watched the sunset.

The next morning I woke up to the sounds of waves and birds from my room.  It was amazing.  We had been told that if we wanted to get in the water there were two things to remember:  1) the water is VERY cold and 2) you have to do the "stingray shuffle" to avoid getting stung by the stingrays in the water.  The cold water was enough to keep me away.  Then they warned us about stingrays in the water and rattlesnakes in the brush.  So now I was completely ok with staying out of the water, on the boardwalk, and in the safe places.

But this place was growing on me.  How could it not?

God is in the rhythm of the waves, the beat of the birds' heart and wings, the gentle touch of the breeze, and the laughter/conversation with my friends.  I am taking the slow approach to being at the beach in winter.  There are no children needing to be entertained, no sand castles to be judged, and no bogie boards to go retrieve from the waves – which is the usual pattern of my family time at the beach.  It's just me and my thoughts (and sometimes my friends with me).

One night I took pictures of the sunset and we had a bonfire on the beach.  It is still not my favorite thing – cold, sand and wind.  But it was a blessed time with God.  We looked at the constellations and told stories.  I did not stay long but it was fun.

The last full day we did a group “5K Run, Walk, Crawl, Drag” on the beach.  Everyone participated in some way and everyone was so supportive of each other.  What a joy to be on the beach all together in God’s amazing creation.  That last night we sat around playing games and laughed until we almost could not stand it anymore.  We had a blast.

Honestly, this weekend did not sell me on time at the beach – especially in the winter.  But it once again gave me time with nature and with the Creator God who made it all possible.  It was a time of renewal and rest, a time of recreation and rejuvenation.  And all of us need that. 

So offer me time away with God and opportunities to be in the midst of nature, being with good friends, eating amazing food, having sights to see, and getting time for rest – and then tell me it is in the Winter at the Beach – and my response will now be, “Ok, sign me up!”

An Iron Lady with Soft Spots

Yesterday we saw a great new movie about Margaret Thatcher, called The Iron Lady. Meryl Streep is a tour de force in the role. The film is about England under the leadership of the first and only female Prime Minister in their long history. She is depicted in an interesting contrast to her public persona. In real life she was thought to be defiant, demanding, and difficult. The movie shows other sides to this powerful woman. A softer, fragile, and more human side of Thatcher is shown as she ages and deals with love, memories, health, and loss.

As a progressive Democrat I was not a huge fan of hers when she was in office. But I did admire her tenacity and leadership skills. She is an enigma – both tough and tender. However, she was in a role in her public life that led her to only allow her tough side to be shown. It is an issue many strong, determined women must face on a daily basis.

But the issues we face today are nothing like those faced by women in the past.

I know that I am privileged by the amazing benefits of the feminist movements of the past. I am also privileged by a system of education that has allowed me to pursue and gain two Masters degrees and a PhD. I am privileged by an economic system that allows me to make decisions about my son's life and education that others do not have. I am white, middle class and highly educated. I have power just because of those facts.

But I am also a woman and the expectations of being tender, passive, and demure are still prevalent in our culture – no matter how far we think we have progressed. Being passive and demure is not part of my life - fortunately. (Those of you know me may snicker loudly now). Women who are assertive are called names, while men who do the same thing are called leaders. That is a sad fact many women must constantly deal with.

Even I have been told to "sit back and let the boys decide the important stuff" too many times. I work in the church and in academia and men still hold the majority of powerful positions. Growing up in Texas I was told on more than one occasion (not by my parents but by the culture around me) to be strong but never beat a man at anything, to let a man take care of me, and to not rock the boat when leadership required tough decisions (they said a man could get it done but not a woman).

Obviously I am not a woman who stands back and let's others make the decisions for her or take care of her simply because they are men. And it has gotten me in a bit of trouble in my life. I have had bosses that resented my strength and determination. That strength has probably resulted in the loss of a job at least once, as well. It cost Margaret Thatcher. But I believe that it has served me well on more occasions than it has hurt me.

I have had other women resent the roles I have played either because they thought I did not deserve the role since I was a woman or because they wished they had followed a similar path themselves. In ministry the most difficulties I have had were almost always with women – for the above reasons mainly, but probably for others as well.

I have a soft side, too. I have shared that in this blog before. I am a weeper. I cry easily and am a softie. I am sentimental and sappy. Some of the wounds and voices of the past still surface and try to derail me. I try not to listen but sometimes the voices are very loud. These moments make me angry and they make me feel weak.

But I am also strong as iron. I am determined and occasionally defiant. I will stand up to injustice for others but sometimes become demure and unsure when it is about me.  My upbringing in Texas probably taught me that - unfortunately. And I have to continue to love myself because of and despite of this.

I am a tigress when it comes to my kid.  Hurt him and you WILL deal with me. I am iron willed when it comes to my faith and moving the church forward.  I am a momma bear when it comes to my students.  I am a sometimes helicopter parent who is getting out of it more and more. I am a crying baby on occasion.  And I am a determined challenger to institutional racism, sexism, classism, heterosexism, sizeism, and other things that belittle and demean others. I am a lot of things - some I love and some not so much.

I am an Iron Lady with soft spots. And that's ok.

On Being from Lubbock, Texas

I was born in Slaton, Texas in June of 1962 in a little community hospital.  Slaton is a small farming community outside of Lubbock, Texas – an area with lots of cotton farming, oil pump jacks, and cattle ranching in the surrounding area.  Lubbock is mostly remembered as the home of Buddy Holly, the location of Texas Tech University, and as the topic of Mac Davis’ song, “Texas in my Rearview Mirror.”  It is part of the Llano Estacado in the northwestern part of the state.  It is known for cattle – lots of cattle.  There is even a story floating around that Lubbock’s City Council once hung little green scented car freshener trees all around the cattle pens in answer to complaints about the smell.

Lubbock is also known for the 1951 Life Magazine publication of photos of “The Lubbock Lights,” a series of photos showing a V-shaped unexplained light configuration in the night sky.  And it is known for chuck-wagon cook-offs, Old West celebrations, great Tex-Mex food, fantastic football, and wonderful views of the plains of Texas.  It is the birthplace of Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks, Joe Ely, Chace Crawford, and Delbert McClinton, among others. 

We were living in Lubbock during the 1971 F5 tornado that took the lives of 26 persons and did $125 million in damage.  I remember my parents were out that night and neighbors took us into their storm shelter to survive the storm.   The city was rebuilt then and is a thriving community now.  Today there are windmill farms and wineries sprinkling the landscape along with the farms and ranches that are the norm.  It is flat as the eye can see – so the sunsets and vistas are spectacular.

But it can also seem monotonous driving through the region for the uninitiated.  When I took a roommate home once from graduate school in Kansas, as we drove from Amarillo to Lubbock she screamed with glee after an hour on the road, “We’re turning, we’re turning!”  Ok, the road is pretty straight.

But the thing I love about being from Texas – despite the fact that we just do things BIG down there – is the pride of the folks who live there.  They love their Cowboys or Texans, Mavericks or Rockets, and their Big 12 sports – Tech, UT, OU, K-State, KU or whatever team they follow.  They love their music and culture, their art and just being from Texas.  They have big hair, big stories, big mouths, and big pride (not everyone has equal big hair or mouths but I am speaking in generalizations here).

To be honest, though, there have been times when I have not enjoyed being from Texas.  The Redneck sexism that still is a part of Texas drives me crazy.  The racism that is still part of Texas makes me sad (it is everywhere else too – unfortunately).  The political changes that have turned it from a Blue state to a Red one have me perplexed.  And the remarkable variety of places and things to do is mind-boggling in diversity and sheer number. 

There was a time in my life when, like Mac Davis, I wanted nothing more than to leave Texas.  The song, “Texas in My Rearview Mirror,” came out in 1980, the year I graduated from High School in Andrews, Texas.  Like the song, however, I have learned to appreciate my Texas heritage and miss it deeply.  This part of the song means a lot to me.

I guess happiness was Lubbock, Texas

In my rearview mirror

But now happiness is Lubbock, Texas

Growin' nearer and dearer 

And the vision is gettin' clearer in my dreams

And I think I fin'lly know just what it means

And when I die, you can bury me in Lubbock, Texas'in my jeans

-          Texas In My Rearview Mirror, Mac Davis

I have lived away from Texas since 1993 when I left to go to graduate school.  I think of it often, visit when I can, and live with my longings to be there almost every day.  The bulk of my family – birth and extended – live there and I wish I could see them more often.  Leaving at that time in my life was the best for me and my future, but someday I hope to move back to my native state.  I love Texas – despite its flaws.  I wear my accent proudly.  There are very few times that I can open my mouth and not get asked, “Where is that accent from?”  So I get to claim my birth state almost every day living here in the Northeast. 

So, yes happiness is Lubbock, Texas growing nearer and dearer.  I love where I am from.  And I am proud to be a Texan – through and through.