in pursuit of critical and compassionate living and thought. in surrender to courage & delight of Christ.
Dear Woman of God,
You are clothed in strength and dignity,
and still inside you cower at the world, and men, and other women, and your inner child. You draw in like the belt of truth were a corset.
You suck in your existence like you could reverse a heavenly commissioning.
You say you know unspeakable truth, but then why do you look like the reality I already see? Why is your scripture packaged in scripts my flesh has already memorized? If your life is the garment this truth holds together, why is it cut from the same cloth, with the same general patterns of the every other merchant’s garment shop here? Why can I buy it elsewhere? Is your God only in the colours, the stitching, the details? Why are you so wealthy? So immaculate? So clean? So safe? Why do you live in the same boxes, and crave the same sweet lines? Why are your schedules so full and yet so duplicate? Why do you practice what you prune? Rehearse what you rebuke? Why are so you so concerned with safe soil that you do not grow from the Vine? Why do you give only where you can secretly take home more, go only where you can leave, and love only in the way you see fit? Why do you talk like you know what you are doing, and do only what you know how to talk about? Why, woman, why?! Jesus, why is the Woman in me still at the well?
I long to look at you Woman of our God! I long to see you among everyone here!
You are here, but you are hidden. I know you are here, Woman Friend, let me see you! I want to stop using metaphors, but I do not yet see you as you truly are.
You speak of purity and singleness of heart
but you are ever-focused on your maintaining appearances –
even if it is the appearance of a woman who cares more about her inner beauty –
How long will you take, how deep must you dig, to believe that Jesus truly does not look at the outer-image of you? Not if you look, by your careful way of dressing or holding yourself or smiling – pure, or upright, or decent, or holy; not if you look unkempt, or irresponsible, or too forward or too backward. How long will he provide for you in every way before you stop collecting things. He does not look for any of it at all. Not of what will happen to your future, or your respectability, or your attractiveness, or perceived maturity or responsibility if you drown it all. You are His prophecy, not His presentation. It is of no ingredient in the promises he makes. Jesus cares about you. It is finished.
Jesus cares that you would lose it all and forget about it. Jesus cares for you with it, and without it, and in spite of it. And that you would know that before it all, after it all, after every concern for it is gone, but you feel its clinging back to you coming,
Oh Woman, I grieve to see you where your heart belongs. You say you are clothed with righteousness, but you are never seen with the poor. You say you have faith, but you have no friends of another. As God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved – why is your compassion, and kindness, humility and gentleness, your patience, reserved for sterile church places? Reflected back only from familiar faces?
Dear woman, why do you live to please moral codes of your community?
And stress to shift between the codes and fit the circumferences of every circle you juggle? Do you not know you are not a play-thing of God’s, a figure to merely represent things to others, an alien and clown wherever you go? You are fire. You are fire! You are the fire of those rings, and you burn through them, and bind them, and make them look alive. You are hope destroying boundaries and circles and lines. And Jesus sees. And Jesus sees who you are – you are not a rib, you are God’s breathe! And so you are fire. And since you are fire, there is no shape you will ever fit. And since you move and burn, there will never be a circle to which you belong. But dear child, you are loved; dear Woman you are seen; dear Eve and Mary and Rahab and Deborah and Naomi and you are known. Woman Friend, show up, I pray. Show me Light. Show me warm. Show me where I can sit and where I can stay.
Dear Woman of God, why do I not see you? Why are you present but so far away? Your changing into a beautiful Image was never the point. The Beautiful Image is us, not you. Why are we not together! Why O Woman, do you cry alone! Why O Woman, do you care more to protect yourself, or entertain your envy of the things you tell God and yourself in prayer that you do not want, than you care to experience our joy or empathy or intimate esteem? Why are your only friends images and sounds of Woman, even those you are put close to, even those you are called to know? I want to see you holy, but I want to know your flesh!
Why, Woman of God, do you enter the desert to find each other?
Why, Woman of God, must you wait till the valley to see each other?
Woman Friend, you are what I want. Not mirage. Not echo.
Why, Woman of God, do you walk ahead until you find a man, a child, a better reflection of yourself only to find your friend limp behind you, or disoriented, or gone. She will not be like you remember unless you see her today.
Let the dead bury their dead, your fellow woman dies to not follow alone.
Oh Woman of God, I am weary in writing to you. Here you are, so close – in me.
But Woman of God, you give me so much hope. You are more. You are not less than because of all these longings; the point is that you are more. You are hoped for, wished for, looked to, and cherished. You are wanted, you are cheered, you are celebrated, you are a vision already here – the Kingdom is in you. I look for you in want, but not in despair. I look for you in anxiousness, but not in anger. I look for you in jealousness for you, and not in judgement. I look for you in me, and in you, Woman of God. My friend, come be with me as our God spreads wings like an mother eagle around us and through our own arms.
Dear Woman of God, please speak, please spread, please soar.
I am praying.