Trees ablaze

It was always there, as far as I remember, this longing for brothers. I wished I had an older brother, a twin brother, brothers all around me. I loved my baby brother, certainly, but I yearned for more. That desire (surprise, surprise) twisted and warped into such a craving for male companionship that I became incapable of maintaining it. My friendships, relationships, with men and boys were mostly fruitless, gnarled, rootless.

And I wished if I could only have a friend, one male friend, who just loved me for me. I prayed if I can just maintain friendships with men, I will be okay.

And I scorned the very real friendships I had with women, and I disdained the value of my sisters as compared to my potential-brothers.

Sisters, mothers, daughters of mine-- I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I placed less value on you than you ever deserved.

I'm sorry I stood next to you, holding my chin high in an attempt to stand just a little taller than you did.

I'm sorry I bowed my head in shame when you succeeded.
I'm sorry I turned my face away when I heard your drowning screams for help.
I'm sorry I have not loved you well.

Nearly two years ago, in a kind of dramatic way, I was initially set free from a spirit of comparison, and, as I stepped into the new way, it was disturbing and shocking how much of my life had been crippled and consumed by measuring. The freedom began slowly, with the ability to humbly receive from mothers . . . then learning to walk in silence in the face of offers to display my own "superiority" . . . then choosing to bare my soul and weep with sisters, without feeling humiliated or "more spiritual" . . . then a spirit of honesty and compassion toward women . . . then a tender concern for daughters . . .

This journey is not over yet, not for me, and I expect it will not be for years. But this year, in particular, has broken and built me more than I thought possible.

For in the past year, I've been cut off by sisters I thought were going to be forever . . . judged my own sisters who weren't doing things the way I thought was "right" . . . repented to sisters I had wounded . . . wrestled with the shame the world tries to put on me as a daughter of the Most High . . . opened myself to sisters who had every opportunity to wound and instead gave me the mercy of their tears . . . and stood before the burning eyes of I AM.

Today I read a fantastic and humbling post by Ann Voskamp, and I thought yes. This is it. This is what my Jesus has been teaching me all year.

What does it boil down to, sweet women?

Love.

And we don't like that, because love sounds boring, it sounds tame, it sounds like one of those things that we've been relegated to because we're not strong enough for the real stuff.

That's a lie.

To love is the hardest thing you will ever be asked to do. 

It is risky and it is painful and it is a long long task. It isn't easy and it isn't a quick fix and it isn't even very pleasant, sometimes.

To love is the hardest thing you will ever be asked to do-- and the roughest.

We don't like being told to love, because what if we're not loved in return? What if we're mocked, or gossiped about, or rejected? What if we can't fight back?

To love is the hardest thing you will ever be asked to do--and the quietest.

For in love, we find that our strength is not our own, and in love, we find that we must be still in order to conquer.

To love is the hardest thing you will ever be asked to do-- and the bravest.

But . . . when we love like warrior-women, a love that clings and can't be turned aside so easily by offense or misunderstanding, a love fierce enough to walk into the nasty ugly places, a love like shelters in a flood, a love that refuses to be bought by flattery . . . then we begin to have the love that is flashes of fire, the very flame of the LORD.

When we love, we become a force that makes the foundations of the kingdom of darkness tremble.

When we love, we become mothers who birth life and peace and joy and all the fruit of the Spirit.

When we love, we become springs of living water for those who are thirsty.

When we love, we become unshakable, women who will be foundational in the building of the Kingdom of God.

My sisters. This is my prayer for us, for this coming year . . . and for always.

May we love each other shamelessly, bravely, strongly, until the very day we die, without comparison, without worry, without back-biting and rage.

May we be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.

May we build up the ancient ruins; may we raise up the former devastations; may we repair the ruined places, the devastations of many generations.

May our children rise up and call us blessed, for breaking away from the lies of comparison, fear, and hatred; and boldly walking in the truth of love.

May we be made strong in the power of the Holy Spirit, and may our strength always be equal to our days.

May we, being rooted and grounded in love, have strength to comprehend what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and may we know the love of Christ, that surpasses knowledge, that we may be filled with all the fullness of God.

May we be so filled with the love of the Trinity that we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard and tasted.

And may our ceilings, the highest heights we reach, be only the floors for our daughters to dance upon as they stretch to new heights . . . because their mothers listened to God rather than to mankind.

The first woman listened to lies rather than to her God, became only a withered shadow of the fruitful tree she was created to be. Thousands of years later, a little Jewish girl undid that by saying yes to an outrageous God of love . . . and she bore fruit that would save the entire world.

Which will we do, sisters?



[The title of this post is a brilliant phrase from, again, Ann Voskamp. She is utterly amazing; read her work here. And many thanks to my humble and brilliant friend Amy, for, many many months ago, being the first to talk about the deadliness of comparison.]