On Monday, I asked on Facebook ”When you hear the term “biblical womanhood,” what do you think of first?”

By the end of the day, there were over 30 responses. While some shared their initial reaction to the term, others added their feelings on the topic. The topic of biblical womanhood can often be an intense debate, combining our identity as women and the Bible we hold dear it’s no wonder the discussion is continuous.

Why Study Biblical Womanhood?

For awhile, I’ve wanted to dive deeper in the topic of womanhood, gender roles, and the role of women in the church to study the varying opinions and history of womanhood, specifically how it relates to and affects church.

For the most part, I know where I stand. I’ve done my own studying and believe what I do because I am convinced it is true. I can’t read the Bible and confidentially see it another way.

That said, there are a myriad of tangential issues that involve womanhood, gender roles, and church that I haven’t completely sorted out–

Should a woman hold a position of leadership in the church over men (children’s director, worship leader, etc)?, Are the terms ‘director’ and ‘leader’ thinly veiled to fall into the complentarian view though truly pastoral positions?

Should a woman teach a co-ed Sunday School class (even if under the authority of her pastor and/or husband) ?, Should a woman be a deacon?, How does the office of deacon differ from elder?

Even in conservative, complentarian churches the answers will vary.

Rethinking Biblical Womanhood: Two Compelling Reasons

The more I think of the biblical womanhood I’ve read of, seen, and practiced the more convinced I am it is very much Americanized. Search ‘women’s ministry’ or ‘women’s ministry ideas’ and you’ll be met with not ways to actually minister to women, but how to decorate, set-up, and execute a women’s ministry event full with flowery details and Jesus-lite. Women are more than events and so should our ministry.

Aside from that, women’s ministry and role in the church, even the discussion itself, is often limited to wives and mothers. But what of the other women?

If biblical womanhood is to be truly biblical it must encompass all women.

Biblical womanhood must embrace every stage of womanhood. Much of the discussion on womanhood is centered on being a wife and mother, and while most women do become wives and mothers it is surely not the calling for all. Even the term ‘stage’ or ‘season’ assumes a woman will one day be a wife or mother, but what if she won’t?

How do we effectively minister to a woman who is single, a widow,or barren when so much of our time is spent on what she is not? Do we even realize how much weight and significance we put on the role of wives and mothers? They are most definitely significant, but does that mean a woman who never becomes a wife or have child has a lesser role? By no means! Yet, that is, more often than not, the message they receive.

What of the 16-year-old believer or the young professional? Do we simply train them to be wives and mothers, even if that season is decades away? I think we do a disservice to all women when we assume the role of wife and mother. We place a higher value on being a wife or mother than on being a disciple of Christ—which we are for eternity and not just a season.

Biblical womanhood must be cross-cultural to be truly biblical. I truly believe this, but if I took the Americanized version of biblical womanhood to Ethiopia, India, or South America is probably wouldn’t translate well. We have our nuances, though not painted as law are often suggested as such, that tell us to have our homes hospitality ready with cups of tea and tidiness, to read our Bibles in the morning to be the best woman, to not work outside the home (it’s ideal though not always possible, they say), and to dress in a decidedly American, feminine way.

Most of our biblical womanhood nuances rest on having money and possessions. What of the woman who has been kicked out of her home for believing in Jesus? What of the destitute who lives in a shanty and doesn’t have food for tomorrow’s meal? What if she isn’t a bargain shopper? What if she can’t stay at home? 

I believe that if a woman’s only source is the Bible, whether she’s in Ethiopia, Iran, Tokyo, or my own city she should be able to read it and know what it is to be a godly woman without hundreds of commentaries, stacks of books on the topic, or even a Bible with cross-references. The Bible should answer the question itself. So even though I am reading the stacks of books and commentaries, ultimately I’d like to see how it all measures against pure Scripture.

The Aspect of Story

I believe story is a powerful tool for change and it has been through story my attitude and perspective of others in this issue of womanhood and the church has changed. To put it nicely, in the past I have been very ungracious to my egalitarian sisters. While most of my opinions stayed in my head, I often approached this debate with little regard for them, believing them to not really know the Bible, love Jesus, or that they just wanted the authority of position. There’s no other way to call this attitude, but sin. It was very wrong of me and I am sorry for it.

One of the things blogging has done for me is to bring me closer to women and ideas I wouldn’t have contact with otherwise. My heart has been softened and I have grown in compassion to other women through hearing their stories. Even if I don’t agree with them, I am better able to see their perspective and to understand how they got to where they are.

I’ve found that many women have not had my experience in church. I am thankful I have been in churches that encouraged and equipped me to serve, listened to my ideas and opinions, and truly respected me. I felt empowered and strengthened in church.

Sadly, many women have not. Through hearing the stories of others, many women have been denied the opportunity to serve even in the most benign situations, told they were less than because they are women—humiliated, embarrassed, ridiculed. These were not meant for women and especially not in the church.

Defending the Cause?

I have no desire, in my study or discussion on the various topics surrounding womanhood, to get into heated debates, begin slinging stones, or participate in “us v. them.” I’m interested in hearing what people think, believe, how they got there, and why.

I don’t care to defend the cause of complentarism or my view of biblical womanhood. I don’t feel compelled to. I know some will disagree with me and say the glory of God is at stake if I don’t, but is it really? Does God glory really hinge on how many “converts” I bring to this side of the issue or how strongly I press it? Will God somehow become less God if I don’t take up arms?

I care for the truth, but I also care for people. I care for unity in the body of Christ. And while I may disagree with people, on both sides of the fence at times, I desire to see and participate in discussions that are mutually beneficial and edifying. I believe these discussions can be loving, compelling, stir compassion and understanding, and not be divisive. It’ll just take some humility.

In the end, if it doesn’t build up the body, doesn’t make us more like Christ, doesn’t cause us to love each other and Jesus more, then what’s the point? 

It’s slightly ironic and mostly fitting that my post for The Better Mom this month is on what to do on the hard days of mothering. That’s kind of been my heart and my days lately.

So head on over and take a breather in this nonstop, always needed gig called mothering.

I’ll be doing the same.

What to Do on the Hard Days of Mothering

I pick this word sojourner and it sounds good to me. Some days it feels too spiritual, some days I want to laugh at just how perfectly it describes my life.

I’m never home. Always pitching a tent somewhere, never completely settled.

I am a sojourner. This is who I am.

But sometimes, I am so very reluctant. Reluctant to play the roles given to me—wife, mother, friend. Reluctant to seek the Kingdom first. Reluctant to bow my head in humility. Reluctant to get too comfortable. Reluctant toward pain. Reluctant, this week, to Mother’s Day.

I hear the strings of the old hymn, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, and every time without fail it stirs me.

I know my place.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

I know I am the wanderer. I am the one who leaves. I am the one promised with a forever betrothal.

I bind my wrist with this promise. I keep it there to remember, to remind me in the drifts of doubt, despair, pride, longing…

I am Gomer, the unfaithful Israel—the forgetful, the hesitant, the reluctant sojourner.

I am the Redeemed, the Bought, the Paid For.

I am the Chosen One, the Royal Priesthood, the Bride.

And still I forget, because I am reluctant. I am still on my journey home.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

******

It’s been awhile, but today I’m joining with 5 Minute Friday hosted by The Gypsy Mama. Just write for 5 minutes, unhindered. Today’s prompt is identity.

On Friday I shared my thoughts on writing, blogging, and telling your story over at Allume. There’s a lot more I could have said and explained better than I felt I was able to in 500 words. (And without going on 100 tangents.)

One of the things I tried to do, but struggled with, in the post was covering multiple blogging niches.

I write primarily about my faith journey, what God is showing me and how I’m processing life. It tends to be more reflective and oftentimes takes a serious tone.

But because that is the type of writing I do it is naturally easier to share my story than it may be for a DIY craft blogger or frugal blogger. It’s an integral part.

However, I don’t think it’s impossible for a blogger in a different niche to share their story. It just might look different.

It doesn’t have to be heavy. Telling your story can be sharing your shortcomings, how you messed up on a project, or some insight the daily grind has revealed.

It doesn’t have to be long. You don’t need to write 5 paragraphs for us to know you’re being real, that you’re not hiding behind a mask of perfection. You can do it in a sentence or a picture. Whatever suits you.

But I believe it is important, even in a bullet list, to share more than your conclusion.

 Don’t just give us your conclusion,

tell us what brought you there.

I think any blogger can do that.

What do you think?

It’s been a few months over 7 years since I started blogging, I’ve learned a lot, gone through much trial and error, and still have more to grow.

One thing I’ve learned is

you’ll always be more effective when you tell us your story.

I’m over at Allume, as part of Bloom in Blogging, today sharing why I believe it’s better to tell your story.

Unsure of what to think or feel or do and not expecting a second miscarriage (on some level I made an unofficial pact with God that it was a one time thing), I packed up my grief for another, more convenient day. It was Christmas time, which met our family with 6 weeks of traveling to visit family and friends.

This was the first time I came up for air.

—————————————————-

I felt today more than I have in a long while. Maybe it was the frigid water, the salty air or the gold specks of hope in the sand.

Something ran alive in me today. Like the blood picked up speed and began flowing through my veins again. I laughed. Honest, true, can’t hold back laughed.

It was beautiful. I felt free, happy even. I felt that moment.

The deadness, the waves of sadness that seems to pervade my life these days was banished, even if just for a moment, by the glowing, glistening sun.

Life bubbled up like a new spring in a drought. Heaviness lifted, and for a moment I could see out of the fog. I need more moments like that. Moments to remind me I’m still alive. The kind that leave you deeply satisfied.

After we came home, I wiggled my wrist from the tangle of bracelets–the one’s that remind me of who I am and who He is. And for some reason, standing in front of the closet with no doors, I hear an old hymn I can remember singing at Mawmaw’s church.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.

Because He lives, all fear is gone.

Because I know He holds the future, 

And life is worth the living, just because He lives!

And while I usually think of this song as some cheesy Southern tradition to end service with hands linked across the pews, I know it’s true. And I know even in the fog and the tears that won’t fall and the pain—He lives.

That hasn’t changed. He lives, so I can face tomorrow. That doesn’t mean tomorrow is rainbows and sunshine, but Hope is alive even when I feel dead.

“Life is worth the living, just because He lives!” Now that feels hard to say. He lives, but what when life doesn’t feel like living?

‘Fall into Him,’ I hear whispered, ‘Trust His life, not yours.’

When it comes to books I can’t pick just one. I’ve known so many and been changed, challenged, driven, and exposed by their stories. I’ve learned words and visited places curled inside the back seat of a car or tucked under the covers with a flashlight reading past my bedtime.

There are just so many stories.

But when I think of books that have changed me four come to mind: Little Women (L.M. Alcott), Passion & Purity (Elisabeth Elliot – really anything by her), A Room with a View (E.M. Forster), and Everyone Is Beautiful (Katherine Center).

A Room with a View is the book I call my favorite. There’s something about purple flowers, shaking off social conventions to embrace a laugh and love that draws me in and whispers life. There’s a message of freedom between the lines. It’s a story I clinged to in high school and has been a beloved favorite ever since.

But Little Women was my first unabridged read. I grew up reading the Illustrated Children’s Classics (you know, the books with a picture on every other page), but Louisa made it feel safe to jump from the condensed classics to the full.

I first read Little Women in middle school and have reread it multiple times since, as well as Alcott’s short stories and her “racy” novel, A Long and Fatal Love Chase. I’m currently reading Little Men.

Little Women changed my life, because it introduced me to the broader world of literature. I had always loved books, but Little Women pulled me deeper in. From Alcott I jumped to Shakespeare and then Austen and the Bronte sisters. I went on to study English Literature in college. While I have a greater affection for British Literature over American (go ahead, call my unpatriotic), Louisa May Alcott is one of the few American authors I enjoy and love.

Her characters are so familiar and comfortable you can’t help but feel a part of the March family. I’ve laughed and cried with them. And I still can’t believe Amy and Teddy ended up together. (Really?!?)

But, my favorite of the March sisters is Jo. I couldn’t help but love her from the beginning. The writer. From my earliest years with clippings of my mother’s catalogs glued to notebook paper and a little sentence scribbled underneath each, I wanted to be a writer.  How could a young one not want to be Jo March with passion for life and stories and her ink-stained finger?

I was proud of my right, ring finger and the indentation shaded a bit of gray from the hours of writing. With the last 7 years of blogging, my little writer’s mark is akin to a faint scar.

But still, there’s the little girl in me, the one holding onto the dream, pursuing the written word and writing out stories.

Thanks Louisa…and Jo.

Want to share a book that’s changed your life? Head on over to Anne’s and link-up! 

I wish we’d stop second-guessing ourselves and wondering if we’re getting “it” right.

I wish we’d embrace our imperfections.

I wish we’d stop thinking, “Just a few more pounds, then I’ll be pretty.”

I wish we’d let go of the fear we’re not enough.

I wish we’d stop accepting the mold of what society thinks a woman should be or do.

I wish we’d trash the lies that whisper, “You just need to do a little more.”

I wish we’d stop judging the woman next to us.

I wish we’d stop pretending we have it altogether.

And I wish we’d give others the freedom to do the same.

I wish for a willingness to be seen without the protective coating.

I wish for arms thrown wide and hearts ready to be spilt.

I wish for women to be free to be themselves.

I wish for grace to cover our imperfections.

I wish for the humility to extend community and grace to others.

What do you wish?

I’ve changed outfits 5 or 6 times before trying to match the style of whatever group I’m about to join.

I’ve tried to be like the cool kids…bitter, up in arms, rage against the world. It’s not me. It’s exhausting.

I’ve tried the circle of happy-go-lucky and ‘the Lord has just blessed me so,’ where smiles are never absent and the kids nearly perfect.

I’ve tried jumping on the bandwagon for each new book and defending the denominational cause.

{Lord knows the list doesn’t stop there.}

But, truly? They’re empty and once the dust settles the bandwagon can be quite boring.

And I still don’t fit in…if I’m honest with myself I don’t fit because I’m not supposed to. Not that I’m this super special person that supersedes all these others. No.

I’m not meant to be someone else. I don’t have their passions, their cares, their love for whatever ‘it’ may be.

I’m nearly 30 and still growing up. Still not completely comfortable in my own skin. I thought I would have had that down by now.

I know who God’s said I am, but being that brave, vulnerable, and outspoken is scary. People might not like that person. I may not fit their mold. I might rattle their cage if my opinions don’t fit in their worldview, Christian beliefs, or parenting technique.

Living out on the limb away from the comfort of a sturdy trunk sounds adventurous. I’ve been there a time or two before, but the staying power…the Dependence I lack. I see the potential opposition and quiver. It’s easier by the trunk…safer.

But I need to come into my own.

Linking up with Life:Unmasked today,

Dear Mother,

I see you. I see the look of worry in your eyes. The self-doubt, the second guessing. You’re wondering if you’re doing this right…this whole motherhood thing, aren’t you?

You worrying if you’re ruining your kids with snacks from a box as other moms talk about their whole food, gluten-free, sugar-free meals. You’re trying to hide that stain on your shirt. The one you didn’t know was there until you got to playgroup. The other kids look like a GAP commercial, while yours doesn’t even match and insisted on wearing mismatched socks.

You’re slinking back into the corner now. That last comment hurt, the one about how moms who don’t pray for their kids everyday don’t really love them. I see you.

You’re fueling your attention on the kids as they play hoping no one will notice all the ways you don’t measure up…how you’re not as good as them. I see that thought running through your head. The one whispering, Someone else could do this better. There’s a better mom for your baby than you. 

Could I have that thought, please?

You don’t need more to be better. Dressing in DIY Anthropologie won’t make you a better mom. You don’t need to do more to be better. Having an activity planned for every day of the summer won’t give your children what they need.

You just need to be you. You are the mother your children need. God has given them to you. God has gifted you with what you need and He will enable you to mother.

Be you.

You can learn from others, try or adapt what works for them, but you do not need to be another mother. God is not asking you to be the woman sitting next to you.

You need to be you. Embrace who God has made you and the journey he’s lead you on. You don’t need to be Pinterest-perfect to be a good mom. You don’t need handmade presents or to cook from scratch every night of the week to love your children well. You don’t need to add to you.

Live in the freedom that says you are enough. You do not need to be more, do more, or become better to love, to be loved.

You are loved infinitely by a gracious Father. You are forgiven. You are washed in grace. You are free.

Mother-friend, let go of those ties that bind you. The one’s who whisper over and over you’re not good enough and somebody could do better. They’re lies. They’re choking the life and joy out of you. They’re stealing your you-ness.

Cut them off.

And you…you give those children at your feet what they really need. They don’t need one more lesson, another outing, the newest Legos, or cooler clothes. Give them what they need. Love.

Love them like the Father loves you. Show them the achings of love.

Give them grace. Show them hope. Embrace joy together.

Dear mother...lavish love. Live there and let Love teach you to mother.

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