In our home beauty was a scorned woman and adornment her harlotry. I asked for my first nail polish when I was nine and my father offered toilet water instead. I ran crying to my room and it was a family joke, but I still don’t paint my nails.

My brains were my brawn and I was the first and only to graduate from college and twice over. I made a tent of my blankets, lit by a flashlight, and read Emily Dickinson, the plain and proper poet. Women are workhorses and beauty is fleeting; fear the Lord and the father, never be a robust and full and beautiful woman. She is the whore on the street stealing innocence from the eyes of boys.

Be smart, but not too smart.

A few years ago a friend told me what he appreciated most about me was my femininity, that I was wholly his sister and he my brother; that my femininity was trustworthy, and I wept from the backseat.

My womanhood is the biggest wrestle of my soul, every time I glimpse a peek at the beauty within, I convince myself of its vaporousness and it flees. Charm is deceitful, but it doesn’t always say you are the most beautiful, sometimes it says you are the most unworthy.

My heart, more than anything, is to take the faces of women around me, wipe the black from the eye-rims and the red from their lips, point them to a mirror where their blemishes are bold and say, “This. This is the you He loves. This is the you He values. This is the you He came to redeem.”

Because we are so hurried in our covering, so quick to fix, and slow to let bloom.

I have never thought myself as a teacher, but like Robert Frost said, “as an awakener.” I want to awaken the worth in the heart of women, to show them their minds and hearts are as valuable as any other attribute, maybe more. I want to wake it in myself, but I know of no other way to do that than to do it alongside others. I want to ask the question: If, then?

If God created and it was good, then what?

If God knit us together, just as we are, then what?

If God formed our minds, our bodies, and our souls, then what?

If God, then what?

Will you join a generation of women in asking those questions?

On February 7-8, 2014 in Austin, Texas, we’ll be gathering to discuss, dream, and determine what it can look like it we see God at the helm of us, and all of us poured out, blemishes and brokenness, and all to Him.

Sign up now for the IF Gathering.

Join Jennie Allen, Lauren Chandler, Ann Voskamp, Jen Hatmaker, and all of us as we work to awaken our generation of women to the beauty of God’s goodness and design.

IF : LEAD
We are gathering and uniting a team of women, who already lead our generation, and unleashing them to lead in their spheres of influence. Together we will create a community and foster an ethos – connecting, encouraging and collaborating together.

IF : GROW
We are creating a blueprint for intentional equipping – reaching women with tools that are holistic, strategic and deep. By providing easy online access to a like-minded community and relevant resources, we will release women around the world to live out their purposes. // Online · 2014

IF : GATHERING
A fresh, deep, honest space for a new generation of women to wrestle with the essential question: IF God is real… THEN what? This 2-day conference brings women together and wrestles out how to live out the calling God has placed on our lives. // Austin, TX Feb. 7–8 2014

IF : GLOBAL
By partnering with organizations like Food for the Hungry, coming alongside women around the world, fostering relationships and utilizing our God-given gifts, our hope is that this movement will not only transforms hearts but leave a tangible impact on the world.

Sign up now for the IF Gathering.

Read what others are saying:

Jennie Allen
Lindsey Nobles
Jen Hatmaker
Sarah Bessey
Sarah Markley
Logan Wolfram
Kelly Stamps

Amongst the backlash of that article there was also a curious phenomenon on the twitter chat: the affirmation of the virtual church.

What was being espoused by person after person was the reality that they considered their online friends their church. “Twitter is my church” and “You guys are my church and my pastors” were among some of the statements I read. The definition of virtual is “Existing or resulting in essence or effect though not in actual fact, form, or name.”

Hear me out, one of the ministries to which God has called me is of the online variety. This blog and other publications I write for take a good amount of mental and spiritual energy. You are my ministry. But you are not my local church.

More and more I read articles lumping authors into clear and present camps. You have the Jesus feminists, the red letter Christians, the social justice-cause driven, the reformed, the story-tellers, the orthodox. There are these hard and fast lines boxing authors to a particular movement or theological framework, and once they have been flagged as such, they are blacklisted or embraced. There is little room for grace in this world because if I confess I agree with Rob Bell in this one area, that is a blight on my character to those who disagree with him. If I confess I agree with John Piper in this area, well, count me out of an entire sector of the blogosphere.

If we are in an age of the virtual church, then we are also in an age of virtual shunning.

You won’t ever hear me disavow the importance of the global Church. That I can consider someone who lives thousands of miles from me one of my closest friends—that is the power of the bond we have in Christ.

But love for the global Church does not negate the biblical importance of the local church. Too often I hear great passion in my brothers and sisters for the health of the Church, without seeing evidence that they value it at its most local level. I see bloggers calling men and women to task, and shunning those who associate with them, without seeing any accountability to authority in their own lives. I see much concern for orthodoxy and discipleship and brotherly love, without seeing evidence of those things in their lives.

I am not saying those things are not happening, what I am saying is that I don’t see it.

I don’t see it because they are not my local church and I do not know them in the way I know the people alongside whom I walk. I don’t see it because I am not privy to the conversations they have with their pastors (if they have pastors) or elders. I don’t see it because I don’t see them taking meals to new moms or visiting the sick or weeping with those who weep. Seeing those things is reserved for those who are not virtual, but real life, flesh and blood.

I’m writing this because too often the assumption is made that the virtual groups with whom I am associated are somehow the people to whom I am submitted. The assumption is we ascribe to the same set of theological ideals, we have discussions behind closed doors, spit-shake on how we’ll handle certain situations, administer church discipline and the sacraments together. And it’s simply not the truth.

I have pastors and a local church. I write for publications, enjoy friendships, but they are not my local church or my elders. Simply because a publication for which I write or a group of online acquaintances embrace a certain stance or ideal, does not mean I agree with them.

A year ago I had a conversation with one of my pastors. I met with him to discuss an opportunity put before me to participate in a publication where I would share the platform with some diametrically opposing authors. Should I do it? was my question. Yes, was his answer. Why? Because every opportunity we have to proclaim the gospel is good and we should prayerfully consider taking it. Some of the places I write, I write because I do disagree with their stance on certain issues. I write because it is my prayer that the gospel would go forth. My name doesn’t matter, but Christ’s does.

We proclaim Christ best by loving what He loves. What Christ loves best is the glory of His Father, and the Father is glorified when we are his disciples, when we love one another—at the most difficult, personal, beautiful level: right here, locally.

Love the Church, friends, but start by loving the church.

I don’t actually know anything about He-Man, except that he was among the repertoire of cartoons banned from our house growing up. My only context for him was a “club” my older brother and his friends started, “The He-Man Woman Haters,” of which I was an honorary member. Blame it on my brother’s hand-me-downs, worn flannel shirts and jeans with holes in the knees. You don’t grow up in a houseful of boys without your inner tomboy making an early entrance. I could keep up with the best of them, run faster, spit farther, and climb higher. Among the women the He-Men hated, I was not counted. We spit-shook on it.

When people find out I grew up with seven brothers they assume I was the protected, doted-upon, princess of the lot. The story above, though, testifies just a bit of how that was not the case. I did not grow up feeling protected; if anything, I grew up feeling fiercely protective. My parents’ deep work ethic was ingrained in us from a young age: we worked hard and were worked hard. Nothing was worth doing half-way and everything was worth doing. “Try, try again” was oft quoted and failure was only one practice session on the way to perfection. There were no traces of feminism in our home, but there was and is a deep sense of independence in each of us.

In the face of secular feminism, there has been a return to gentility among men in the church. They are encouraged to protect and serve their sisters, leading boldly amidst admonishments to “be a man!” It’s been a great privilege to learn how to let men lead me, to refrain from mental spitting contests if they serve to do nothing more than assert my position among the guys around me. As a 31 year old unmarried woman with multiple degrees, a great job, and seeming success in multiple areas, it can be tempting to shrug off the efforts of my brothers to care for me. The reality is, I don’t need them to take care of me (nor do I think the Bible instructs them specifically to do so.).

“Treat younger women as sisters,” is the go-to verse for headstrong Timothys busting at the seams to swoop in and fix what they perceive to be broken. Many of them perceive many young women as broken and in need of their protection. Yet the absurdity of a young woman being under the protection of every young man resembles a page from a Where’s Waldo book. Women trying to figure out who exactly they’re supposed to seek for protection, and men running everywhere to put women everywhere under the proverbial umbrella. It’s madness and chaotic—not the sort of thing an orderly God would ordain.

Here are three thoughts that have helped me think through this relationally:

1. Protection is not the same as headship.

There have been several times when young men in my life have stepped up and offered to “take care of a guy” for me—this doesn’t, however, give them headship over me. There are other times when I have turned to my brothers and warned them to steer clear of unhealthy situations with girls.

We need leadership, yes, but we should not seek it in every willing body. There are two or three pastors at my church who hold that position for me: they are my protectors and my safe place, they keep watch over my soul.

2. If you are a young woman who feels unprotected, there is nothing wrong with you.

If you are a young woman who does not feel the immediate need of protection, there is also nothing wrong with you. God knit us together in unique and beautiful ways; some women are naturally wired to be capable and strong; some women are naturally wired to be mild and quiet. Both women, however, can learn from their sisters. And both women can learn from their brothers. I will always gravitate toward strong leadership because I am a strong leader. However, I am also fairly gentle and slow to speak up for myself, so I have had to learn that it is sometimes necessary for someone to speak up on my behalf.

If you’re a single girl and a brother shows obvious partiality and protection toward you, ask him to make intentions clear. That is true protection, for you and for him. He needs to know it isn’t his role to protect you. If he finds himself wanting to lead and guide you, see point three.

3. If you are a young man who finds yourself drawn to lead or be protective toward one young women more than others, consider that might be the nudging of the Holy Spirit.

Don’t dismiss those “brotherly” feelings as simply that. If, however, you have checked your heart and are certain she is not the one for you, make it clear you are just looking out for a sister and do not show partiality. We women may be the weaker vessel, but no worries, we can spot a cad a mile away. Don’t show partiality toward her unless you are interested in the possibility of showing partiality to her until death do you part. Feeling protective? Ask her out for coffee and tell her; see where it goes.

Reminders, not rules

Protection is not a male to female action, it is a sighted person leading a blind person to safety. It is the one who knows how to swim giving the drowning an arm. It is removing yourself or others from a dangerous situation. And sometimes it is simply looking at the facts and being honest with yourself and others about the implications. It is recognizing a capable person does not mean a perfect person.

This has nothing to do with headship or hierarchal relationships—this is christian brotherhood, loving and caring for the health of the sheep. These actions merely reinforce the reality that God protects His sheep, it’s a physical reality of a spiritual truth. It is a reminder and not a rule.

“I don’t know if we’re meant to hide when we’re in public,” she says, “I think there are times for hiding and those need to be intentional. But don’t you think that Jesus felt everyone knew Him when even His disciples were wrong? Peter!” She laughs. “The most right he ever was was when he said, ‘To whom else would we go?’ No. I think we are meant to be only ever partially known. I think Jesus knew we wouldn’t have the treasure of being truly known outside of heaven.”

“I think it was CS Lewis,” I say to her, “who said the only place outside of heaven where we can be safe from the dangers of love is hell.” Now I’m the one blowing whirlpools of cool air into my tea.

“I wonder the same thing goes for being safe from being truly known,” she says. “I wonder if all the dangers that come from being partially known, people’s assumptions about us, if those are only gone in Heaven—or hell. In heaven or hell we know who you are. You’re either saved or unsaved. It’s across the board; no differentiation.”

“This is what makes us all such fools here on earth,” I say. “It’s that we are so set on hierarchies and systems and compartmentalizing and celebrity. We can’t keep ourselves from categorizing the whole world from blue collars to white collars to blue-blood to white trash—we can’t keep our grimy fists off the identities of everyone else. Jesus knew though.” I set my tea down and flip the pages in my bible til it lands on Luke 23, “Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.”

“He knew we were a bunch of fools, all laid out, splayed out, played out fools. Bare and ignorant, all of us. He leveled it for us right there. Forgive them, Father, the whole lot of ‘em.”

We shake our heads and laugh. I catch her eye and we both glance down quickly. To know a person is a difficult thing indeed. We hide, even in public places, across steaming cups of Earl Grey tea in busy coffee shops where tables are confessionals and the table between us is flat and equal.

He speaks of the cedar waxwings eating grapes in November. But he penned the poem The Peace of the Wild Things nearby then and poetry is meant to speak of the mysterious in the mundane and so he speaks of us, or the hoped-for us.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This morning I read in Mark of Jesus healing on the Sabbath, the pharisees outrage, and the calm response of the Lord of the Sabbath: “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.”

How we have forgotten that. How have we forgotten that?

She is leaving to get bread flour to bake round loaves in the brick-oven. Do you want to come with, she asks, dropping her prepositional phrase and picking up her purse. I am drinking coffee on the side porch and nothing could bid me leave the wild rushing of the river in front of me and the song of the orioles above me. This is my sabbath and I am made for it, I think.

The last time I was home was a year ago, in May, and I have waited a year for these few days. They are not exactly as I imagined in my mind, other duties and events capped its full breadth, but it is a few days at least of quiet and still. I was made for this week, I think. The coals burned hot in the brick-oven the other night and faces gathered around the tables, children everywhere, laughter lingering. A phone call from Malaysia from a globe-trotting brother: you always sound so happy when you’re home, he said, and it is true, except when it hasn’t been.

I have lived this year holding my breath, it seems, waiting for the mornings when I could sleep past 4:30 or when I at least didn’t have to hit the ground running, literally, as soon as I woke. I have lived this year waiting for Sabbath, guarding it with a fervor I didn’t know I had. If anyone came near it, I would square my jaw and shake my head: it’s mine!

I preened myself for my Sabbaths.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Whenever I rest and really rest, empty my head of expectations (yours and mine), listen, really listen, I remember there is nothing of my doing in salvation; that salvation is one long rest in the same direction. There is work too, obedience and sanctification, moments of weakness and moments of strength. But at its core and its very marrow, the work of salvation is rest, Sabbath. It is to say, again and again and again, I rest in You, Lord of Rest. I find my Sabbath in you, Lord of the Sabbath.

The work of salvation is to live a life full to Sabbaths, even when there is no margin and little space, when there is demand from every outside element and every inside emotion. This is to trust that a God who rested when His work was not done—even when it was good—to set an example for His people: You are not done, children, no, but it is still good. And so rest. You are not made for Sabbath, the Sabbath was made for you.

It is more accurate to say somewhere along the way I forgot I was living a story.

There’s so much noise these days and I don’t know how to shut it out and down and over and out. Our home is a quiet place, filled with simple things, but it is a small place, and there is no hiding from life’s noise. The coming and going, the phone calls with family, the boyfriends, the dishes piling, and the laundry. Some have said the single life is simple, but I dare anyone to say that to me who has had 32 roommates in a dozen years. As soon as I learn the rhythms and graces of one, she marries or moves and I plunge into another lesson with another girl. I cannot complain and do not: these girls have been family to me, each one of them slipping into her new life while I mourn her leaving, she has been family to me.

One and I are walking yesterday and the sun is setting, “You’re going to move with me?” I ask her, because we will close up shop on this house soon I think. She tells me she doesn’t know how to process the invitation that I would want her to meld her life with mine. I feel a sense of Naomi in that moment and she my Ruth: where you go, I’ll go; only I am the one saying to her: where I go, you come. (Ruth 1:16)

It is foreign to us both, the togethering that happens with strange people in a strange land. And we are all strangers, I think, we just haven’t awakened to its reality yet. Or life has been kinder to you than to me. Or perhaps, after all, it has been kinder to me than to you. We shouldn’t bother ourselves with such things.

I am scrubbing the laundry room floor tonight and I know I ought to feel at home in this place, but it feels more a placeholder to me, a dog-eared page, a bookmark: Don’t Forget What God Has Done Here. And I don’t know if He means this house or Texas or this world, but it could be any and is all. We are all so enamored with making a place for ourselves when it is He who has made a place for all of us. His thumbnail is the sliver of moon, heaven is His home, the earth is His footstool, dare we even imagine we could build a place for Him? (Isaiah 66:1)

The air catches beneath the tablecloth as it settles centered, dust particles float, and I put the broom in the corner. The dishwasher and the washer both run, their steady hum sounding steady with the air-conditioner. It smells like lemon furniture polish and maybe the grapefruit in the bowl on the table. We have made a home here, placed ourselves in the center of our story. The doors revolve around us, the world revolves around us, and I wonder sometimes how little idea we have of His grandness and this home a vapor, our lives a breath, our whole story His.

I’m over at Project TGM today. Continue reading  The Pornified Mind and the Glory of God. 

If you’re interested, I also wrote at The Gospel Coalition this week.

Increasingly, doubt and doubters are given platforms in church culture, and I see some good reason for it: arrogant certainty in rules and principles has led into a legalism of culture and spirit. The only answer for many dechurched or post-evangelicals is to circle their doubt like the drain in a bathtub. The problem with it, though, is the only place it leads is down.

Continue reading Doubt Your Doubts. 

Tonight I was remembering some of the things that set my soul free a few years ago. Not the sermons or books specifically, but the realizations:

1. I am the younger brother AND the older brother. I hate restrictions and I love approval, I hate poverty and love lavish attention.

2. God is not more or less interested in me because of my legalism or licentiousness: His provision is the same for both.

3. The gospel doesn’t only carry the power to save me, but also sanctify and sustain me.

4. I cannot put God in my debt by being good, holy, or faithful enough.

5. All my righteous acts are like filthy rags.

6. God is not beholden to my view of Him. My concept of good is not His definition of good. My ideal of His faithfulness is not His attribute of faithfulness.

7. Man’s approval is impossible to attain. God’s approval is completely wrapped up in His Son.

8. God is not surprised by my lack of faith or my abundance of faith, by my questions or my fears, by my pride or my sin. On the threshold of His kingdom He will not deny access to me because I didn’t understand an aspect of theology or walk in complete faith in certain areas.

9. The Holy Spirit is not tapping His toe waiting for my faith to be big enough or my ear to be tuned. He dwells in me, empowering me to accomplish everything God has ordained for me to accomplish with every gift He formed me to have before the foundation of the world.

10. God is for my joy. He is most glorified when I am most satisfied in Him. My complete confidence and joy in the Holy Spirit, through the finished work of the Son, to the honor of the Father, brings the triune God glory.

It was encouraging for me to simply write these things out, and so I thought I’d share them with you. Perhaps you’re struggling too, or perhaps you’ve never experienced gospel wakefulness, and these points will help you along that way. Either way, I hope you’re encouraged. Also, I suggest you take a few minutes to write out what the gospel means to you, or has shown you. Even just to remind truths or clarify errors in your thinking.

*Gospel Wakefulness is not my term, but Jared Wilson’s . Jared wrote a book by the same title, but he has also written extensively on it on his blog Gospel Driven Church. Jared is one of the most Godward gazing people I know. His blog has been a constant source of encouragement in the past few years and I recommend every one of his books with full assurance you will be encouraged. Seriously, buy his books. All of ‘em.

Won’t Let Go Unless You Bless Me by Andree Seu. She’s always been an impressive Christian writer to me. I love the way she thinks and her dry sardonic wit. This is a short book full of her essays and I highly recommend it if you’re looking for good writing, memoir or devotional style.

What is the What by Dave Eggers. This is a beast. This book was tough for me. I love Dave Eggers and this book was no exception, but the content (on the Lost Boys of Sudan) is rough. The most poignant part of the book, though, came for me in the purpose of its title. It has stuck with me so strongly this month that I may do a whole post on it at some point, so be looking for that if you’re curious.

The Horse and His Boy by CS Lewis. One of my favorite of the Narnia books. Talking horses? Who wouldn’t love it.

Surprised by Oxford by Carolyn Weber. I liked this book. It’s a fairly big book (nearly 500 pages), but it was a quick read for me. Carolyn tells her story with surprising detail. I couldn’t figure out if the book was meant to be a love story or her journey to faith, but by the time I read the last page, I realized it was both—they just happened to be simultaneous journeys.

The Terrible Speed of Mercy: A Spiritual Biography of Flannery O’Connor by Jonathan Rogers. I enjoyed this biography of one of the greatest short story writers of our time. I’ve known O’Connor’s story since college, but this book shed some new light into the life and times of this beloved writer. Flannery’s life was not easy, but it was the quintessential “writer’s life” and Rogers tells of it well.

Chasing Francis by Ian Morgan Cron. I’ve had this one on my shelves for a while. I loved Jesus, My Father, the CIA, and Me by Cron, but I was less inclined to read a novel by him. However, it was good timing that I read this one when I did. Chasing Francis is the story of a man in the middle of a faith crisis who goes to Italy on a spiritual journey in which he discovered St Francis of Assisi. I found myself weeping by the end of this book at the lengths to which God goes to help us see Him fully.

Creature of the Word by Matt Chandler, Josh Patterson, & Eric Geiger. Before I started this one I tweeted, “About to start Creature of the Word; time to see if my pastors told the truth about us.” Shore nuff, they did. No church is perfect, and in some ways, a large-multi-site church likes ours might hide her blemishes in the crowd while at the same time be a display of sorts for churches all over the world. In this book, the authors did a great job of showing how when it’s all said and done, the Church is built up of individual sinners who are all captivated by and creatures of the word. My heart was freshly encouraged by reading this.

High Tide in Tucson by Barbara Kingsolver. To read Kingsolver is to love her. I’ve never read anything of hers that I wasn’t completely captivated by, and this book is no different. High Tide in Tucson is a compilation of essays by Kingsolver on everything from evolution to traveling to war to memory. I loved it.

Aside from reading and homework assignments, inclusion in this program required we:

Be covenant members at our church
Be serving in lay or official ministry at our church
Not show up even a minute late to classes each day (This one had consequences with embarrassing results—so much for sola gratia here…)

Going into the program I thought:

Getting up at 4:30am won’t be that bad, plus it’ll train me to wake up that early every morning: think of what I could do with an extra three hours awake on my off days!?

This much Bible reading will be the most concerted effort I’ll have ever made to read straight through scripture. That can’t be a bad thing.

Studying some key books inductively sounds on one hand exhausting (won’t we get tired of the same book?) and on the other hand thrilling (18 weeks in the book of Romans? Yes, please.).

On this side of the program, here are some reflections:

My enthusiasm for rising early waned quickly because I am a morning person. However, my morning-person mornings break with sunshine, yes? Lacking sunshine I am apparently not a morning person. I desperately missed regular mornings at home, reading quietly over my morning coffee.

At the beginning of the program we were encouraged to read devotionally (the Bible as well as supplemental texts) instead of academically. However, the volume of required reading was so far out of my normal reading style, that I struggled to read it devotionally at all. I had to change the way I read, which wasn’t a bad thing, and it helped me step back from the texts to see a more holistic picture.

I need sleep. I tried to do everything I normally do, plus this program (including the extra commute it added to my day), and do it on minimal sleep. I hit March and realized I just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t that I was doing too much, it was that I was doing it on not enough sleep. My relationships have suffered, my work suffered, my writing projects suffered, and my soul suffered under the guilt of what I wasn’t able to do. Looking back, it would have been worth it for me to move closer to my church for this year simply to save on the amount of driving I had to do in the morning.

One section of the program required the students to teach through the book of Psalms. Rising early on those mornings was pure joy. To hear my fellow students wrestle with a text, the Lord, and their testimony every morning was a recipe for worship. We couldn’t help but worship.

The most healing section of the program for me was studying the book of Acts inductively. I have a lot of baggage from that book and going through it start to finish was so completely complete. We studied it historically, geographically, theologically, and spiritually. It’s a beautiful book.

The most challenging section of the program for me personally were theology classes. Every week I learned of more misconceptions and errors in my thinking and understanding of theology. This was challenging and relieving. We’re all theologians, but we don’t all have good theology.

The most rewarding aspect of the program was the opportunity to walk alongside about 30 other individuals (most of whom I knew or knew of already) who deeply loved Jesus, His Church, and His word. These were people who were chosen to pilot the program, who would give their all, and who were actively serving others. Coming together each morning and just extolling the name of Jesus together, shouldering burdens with one another, praying for one another, laughing, questioning, and wrestling with texts, theology, verbiage, and life together was a deep blessing for me personally. I don’t know that there will be another opportunity in my life to walk alongside men and women of such caliber so closely for ten months.

Fin

As we finished our last class the other day, reflecting on what went well and offering feedback for future years of the program, I couldn’t help but just reflect on what the Lord has done in my life in ten years. Ten years ago I participated in a similar program (though less rigorous) at my church in New York. It was the first real discipleship I’d ever experienced and the men who taught those classes shaped so much of my formative thinking in regard to theology and the word of God. Walking through this experience, ten years later, lent such perspective to what the Lord has done in me in a decade. He has been good to me.