Women's Articles

My words feel frail and lifeless. The answers I seek seem elusive. Amidst a quiet and confusing season, I struggle to find purpose in prayer.

The topic starts showing up everywhere—in the books I read, in the Bible study I teach, in the passages I study. Today it appeared again, and I decided to look a little closer at King Solomon’s sacred conversation.

Any word can become tired and eroded of meaning with overuse, but I think “Lord” in evangelical culture is one of the more lamentable cases.   “Praise the Lord.”   “Oh, Lord.”  “Lord, please….”   We throw his title around very casually, don’t we?    It’s become a virtual nickname for Jesus Christ, but I suspect we’ve forgotten what we proclaim when we use it.  

I was wrestling in prayer through some stubborn circumstances recently, trying for the umpteenth time to persuade “the Lord” to change them already.   Mid-plea, his words in Luke 6:46 came sharply to mind:   “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’ and do not do what I say?”  

Justice—it’s a word we attach to everything from court rulings and foreign policy to healthcare and education. But what happens when justice becomes painfully personal? 

For so long I thought of justice as a concept outside my walls, a cause I could give myself and my time toward. I never considered how justice relates to my relationships until lately.

This week we will visit a veteran’s cemetery to lay to rest amidst the flags a dear friend and mentor who served in WWII. This Memorial Day we honor others who have preceded him.

I sat sweaty-palmed waiting for my name to be called from the list. I’d rehearsed my ballad 100 times in the previous weeks. Now it was time to show my skills and wow the judges with my best Liza Doolittle. It was my first college musical audition, and I was sure I’d steal the show.

“[The main thesis of this book] is that the family, with traditional religious roles for men and women in a life-long monogamous marriage relationship, is the abiding natural foundation for social order, happiness and stability. When that view is abandoned for selfish individualism the society will collapse and die.” – Carl W. Wilson, Our Dance Has Turned to Death.[1]

Carl W. Wilson’s book, Our Dance Has Turned to Death, examines the causes and effects of the disintegration of the American family. Published in 1979 (Yes, 1979!) it stands today as a prophetic voice from the not-too-distant past. This social theory still stands because it is well within a biblical framework. Not all is biblical, much is theoretical.  No matter which side you might prefer, it is still a good read. Drawing on a wide range of sources, from anthropologists, sociologists, psychologists, and historians, as well as the Bible, Mr. Wilson’s book touches on a vast array of topics, including slavery, the industrial revolution, woman’s suffrage, feminism, sexuality, homosexuality, politics, economics, the military, etc. But be forewarned—men, women, Christian, secularist, leftwing, and right wing—you will probably be offended in some way; no matter what group you identify with, Carl W. Wilson will confront and challenge your conventional wisdom.

“Then the Lord said to me, ‘When you tell them all this, they will not listen to you. When you call out to them, they will not respond to you’” (Jeremiah 7:27).

Sometimes believing God is more painful than not.  Praying for something consistently with no felt response can really smart, can’t it?  This is especially true if you’re someone who believes that God does things on the pavement of this life, not just in the next and not just in the spiritual realm.  Enter me.  I have seen God move in mighty ways and don’t believe material miracles have ceased.  What I believe and regularly experience, however, are at odds.  You see, I inhabit a body that is largely a nuisance and my prayers for physical healing have thus far been turned down.  If I saw Christ in the flesh, I would dive for the hem of his garment.  Until then, I pray.   I don’t know how many times I’ve asked for God’s healing, but he does. What I do know is that it’s difficult to keep asking, to hope that perhaps entreaty number 2,432 will be the one.

Several summers ago I found myself meditating on the simple verse Micah 6:8, “He hath showed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God? KJV.“ As I sought to understand each admonition I settled on the word humbly, asking the Lord what does it look like to walk in a humble manner.

I’m a terrible dancer. For weeks leading up to our wedding, my husband and I practiced that step-slide-slide movement until I could stumble my way through it. Our one dance together was simple—no twists or turns—just three stilted steps.

A few days ago, I had lunch with a dear friend. As usual, conversation started with banter, dancing in rhythms established decades ago. Then, as can only happen in time-cured friendships, the inside jokes quickly but imperceptibly gave way to meaty authenticity. Later, driving away from the restaurant, I reflected on the treasure God gives us through spiritual friendships--the treasure He's given me through my friendships.

There’s a lot of confusion about what constitutes work in today's society, especially for women. The most recent political furor centers around a comment implying that a woman who chose to stay home to raise five sons “never worked a day in her life.”

More is always better, right? And different is always fun and fabulous, don’t you think? 

Twelve years ago, George Barna described women as the backbone of the Church, but his recent research reveals that the backbone shows signs of decay and collapse. 

“Dear Tiffany, Your car is a total loss.”  A terse list followed which detailed every door ding, paint scuff, and hail dent that my 2001 Mercury Cougar had proudly acquired in our nine-year relationship.  It was all there.  The scratched fog lamp from sliding into a bush in a Colorado snowstorm, the hole in the floor board carpet from tapping my black heels one too many times, and the six-disc CD player which no longer functioned but still contained the music of a dreamer.

Where I’m from, target practice is part of the landscape. You can barely grow up in Texas withhold holding a barrel of some sort. I got my first chance with my dad standing just behind my right shoulder. Ear plugs fastened, eyes peeled, sights set—shoot. It’s a drill we’ve rehearsed a thousand times by now. And yet most of the time, I still miss that tiny orange dot, encircled by four black disks, tacked to a distant tree stump.

It’s a dark scene shrouded by shadows and begging for sunlight. Two men wrestle until dawn breaks. But this fight isn’t just physical—it’s spiritual. And the setting mirrors our own soulful struggles sorted out in the debt of night.

“Do you have any wisdom or advice as to how best to approach my season of singleness and the struggle I’m facing?”  Gulp. The email from a college friend detailed how rent she felt between the desire to be content in her singleness and her fervent prayers for a husband.  I punched “reply,” but the cursor just kept blinking.  One week later I finally typed, “I honestly don’t feel like I have any magical answers, but I’d love to share with you some of the things that God taught me along the way.

I sat in a room filled with ministry leaders. The speaker shared a concept I’ve been thinking about ever since the words left her lips. There are defining moments. There are desperate moments. And sometimes these two meet and mark our lives forever.

These days, instead of napping, my son prefers to stand up in his crib in the darkness, stretch his little arms toward the window, and manipulate the blackout curtains until he gets enough light. He craves this light, not just so he can see, but so he can play. Many times over the last month or so I have heard his babbling explode into squeals of delight, and I became curious: what is he up to at bedtime?

One morning I went into my son’s room to change his diaper, and turned on the light.  That’s when it clicked. He raised his hands and feet in the air, and looked at the wall next to the changing table—and began to belly laugh.

My son has discovered his shadow. Wherever we are, he chases rays of light so he can manipulate silhouettes of shadows.

On Saturday evening my husband and I drove home from Waco after celebrating my grandpa’s birthday. Something about that two-hour car ride left me starving. And I spent the last hour of our drive dreaming about what I could snack on when we got home.

There’s a piece of my calligraphy in our bathroom, where it’s been for many years in a place where my sons would see it (over the commode!), of one of life’s most important questions: “In the scope of eternity, what does this matter?"

Noah--faithful, blameless, favored by God Noah--hit dry ground, built an altar, received God's new covenant. Then he got wasted and passed out (Gen 9:20-21). David--the man after God's own heart--took his rightful place as God's anointed king. Then he shirked his duties and went looking for trouble from the palace rooftop (2 Sam 11:1-3). The ten lepers got the healing they'd begged Jesus for. But 90% never returned with praise and gratitude. There's a special kind of faithfulness for after your prayers are answered.

Work has become something of a secret shrine in our culture. We go in early, stay late, and check email on our phones. We clock more hours, to make more progress, to earn more money, and we wonder why we’re tired.

In the chaos of our world today I sometimes get confused. In the face of difficult and painful circumstances I struggle to respond rather than react. I believe one point of confusion surfaces in almost any challenging event. What do I do when my present reality is painful. Have I made a mistake? Is this indeed some “strange thing” that is happening to me? Do I focus on pain relief alone?

I'm an introvert, but I love people, just not too many of them over too short a time. They wear me out, and then I need time alone with God to refuel. That's how God wired me, and all you other introverts too. My mother was an introvert who ultimately lived as a recluse. I don't want to turn out like that. So I've been pondering ways to make sure I keep community central to life. One way is to consider the character of the Triune God.

It’s August 17 and I’m putting a stake in the ground.  I resolve to live a simple life.  I’m tired of bearing the scars of this frenetic pace of life—the dull eyes, the lethargic shuffle, the nervous twitch whenever someone causally concedes, “I know you’re busy but would you...?”  I never intended to become this person.  Somewhere in the pursuit of learning to love God more deeply and my neighbor as myself I became a people-pleaser obsessed with excellence and terrified of using the word “No.”  

Life doesn’t just happen to us; we experience it and interpret it through a filter. That filter, like a pair of glasses, consists of beliefs and values we might not even realize we hold.

Economic fears have gripped the world. While the U.S. attempts to recover from recession and high unemployment, its credit rating has also dropped. The global markets are fluctuating daily, and many investors are panicking out of fear of losing the money they have set aside in stocks and bonds. 

How should a follower of Christ react to huge worldwide economic problems?

Next week my granddaughter will have the experience of a lifetime. Her parents are showering her with a major birthday celebration called a Quinceañera that she might experience a tradition associated with her Spanish heritage. Coming from the northeast I have much to learn and I have attempted to know more about this event and why it is so very important to my daughter in law who is from Puerto Rico. Interestingly, I learned that it marks my granddaughter’s transition from childhood to womanhood and the coming-of-age rituals that mark a woman’s independence. One of the traditions is to have her shoes changed from flats to heels, dance the first dance with her father and to be given a Bible showing the world that this is not just a birthday but a birthday with a spiritual emphasis.

I hope I don’t step on anyone’s toes here.

As a recovering people-pleaser, stepping on toes is something I tend to avoid like the plague. Growing up, I learned early on that popularity was easier to attain if you were, well, nice. The church seemed to reinforce the pursuit of bending over backwards for the needs of your fellow man - God first, others second, self third. Anytime I heard this popular mantra, I internally gave myself a high-five. I had that down pat! Well, maybe not the God first part. My own formula went something like this: