The Humanity of Women: a Godly Design: I try and remember, what I was like even three years ago. When I was a Believer, a believer in my good deeds and my effective means of being… better. Who I was has changed most drastically. I recall, at my worst, people chimed my praises.
And I would hide in my closet and cut loose, begging Him to make me different. My wails so loud, my heart so consumed with my wretchedness, I couldn’t hear His gentle voice whispering, “I did sweet girl, I already made you different, I left it all on the cross.
Ah yes, the cross. And I wore my “Jesus Saves” t-shirts, pendants, charms, and amulets. The testimony was to my commitment to the club, a club of believers, believing fully in the lie – we will eventually catch up to that old rugged cross.
We think we can.
In fact, we promise we will, and we hope, given the right theological recipe, maybe this time… we will be totally transformed.
So tonight, I am up, wide awake. A friend called to offer encouragement – much need encouragement. She said what I knew she would say, and needed to hear anyway, “Be you.”
Again, I confess, being me is a harder task than one might suspect, as for most women, it is a full-time job.
Me, with my quick-wit, and quicker draw, which for the most part is what most people are thinking, however, have the sense to squash it. And me, with my unhealthy adoration for pastries and gummy bears. Yes, Jami Amerine would-be-one-hit-wonder, if not for the wealth of wisdom from real women, who really know better.
And it is those women who I am most thankful. The women who went before me and were willing to testify to their mistakes, honestly.
Reliably, if not for the brave few who say what they mean and mean what they say, how many messes would I be in? Many… many more.
I remember the old me. I was self-righteous without merit. And, I harshly judged and spoke loudly about all the things I knew that most disgusted the God I pretended to understand. How lucky am I to have been knocked off my high horse. Face down in the mud, there was nowhere to look but up.
There He stood, gently reaching His hand out to me. My friend, Anna, said to me this week, “He sees us as He sees Jesus, just as He designed.” The injustice of this is enough to bring me to my knees. He sees me as He sees His beloved Jesus?
Jesus, who was the epitome of love. This Man-God, who laid His life down so that I might be called His Father’s friend?
It is nearly ridiculous… if not for the wisdom. I could not, so He did.
When I was preparing for my second book launch, Sacred Ground Sticky Floors, I decided that anyone on my launch team needed to be truly known. So I opened a Calendly account and a Zoom account, and I posted in my launch team, “let’s meet!”
The schedule filled quickly.
And truly, I met with myself. Who I was, and who I am to become.
Some of the members of the launch team were old friends. Some quickly have become new ones. In 15 minutes we had talked about all of the things. I ended each meeting by asking, “how can I pray for you?” Which is quickly met with the rhetorical, “now, how can I pray for you?”
Each time, I was utterly undone by the kinship.
We had everything in common. We are tired, worried, happy, sad, hopeful, and absolutely infatuated with the Good News, we are adored. Perhaps, we enter the meetings an author and her tribe, but I left each encounter totally connected, fully a member of an amazing community of women.
And this tribe of Believers is most grateful we are discovering, how much He loves us.
I am entirely convinced, this humanity, of meeting with women of like minds, similar struggles, and one True Love, leaves me better for having been down this road. The reality is, don’t be too shocked, I am not a theologian.
Nor am I a prophet, but truthfully, I have seen hope and bright futures in every single meeting.
We believe not just in our God… We believe our God.
Then, as I poured over my journal tonight, able to connect names and faces with voices and mannerisms, hopes, and petitions, I was overcome with the humanity… the true privilege of being among women, such as these.
Justly, they have been a reminder of the poetry of a life lived well. Their stories are unique, their desire to know this Jesus, and know Him well, oh so familiar. Perhaps, this is most obvious, but tonight as I try and wind down, I am undone with gratitude.
No, not that they will promote my book, but more, that they took the time to share their journey with me. I find I often forget the importance of community. I tend to get lost in lofty words and elbow deep in acrylic paints… and cans of frosting. Distracted with a busy brain that never, ever stops, these meetings have been a respite from the loneliness of being an introvert mistaken for an extrovert, who, apparently, needs a whole lot more live human contact.
As I prayed for each of them, I was so overcome with the love our God has for women. First I considered the Marthas and the Marys… then the Jamis and the Diannes. Finally, the adoration He has for motherhood, the cries of the childless and the road He walks with them.
The privilege of feminine and the responsibility He left us charge of is most grand.
I come away from these encounters with the wholehearted belief, we are set apart. He chose us, women, for compassion and balance in a world of hostility and chaos. He created us for opinion, craving, and encouragement. The design of women has been criticized, shamed, and prescribed as less than, but truly I am convinced – this was never His intent, simply a misguided world run by men.
Still our importance, our design is utterly intended specifically for compassionate community. It is unmeasurable, although often called too much or too little. Feminist became a bad word, associated with bra burning and hairy armpits… which truly, I am sorry, no one can convince me is ideal.
Bury me in my bra, only after I am cleanly shaven.
Furthermore, I have come to a greater conclusion, to be a feminist is to understand the significance of women. To acknowledge the exclusive and pleasurable intention. Similarly, we are, creative, kind, malicious, precious, soft, round, skinny, a hugger, a talker, shy, loud, proud, subdued or completely messy… we are united as His beloved daughters.I have come to a conclusion, to be a feminist is to understand the significance of women. To acknowledge the exclusive and pleasurable intention. Click To Tweet
And I don’t intend to say we all have to get along, nor shall I break out in Kum By Yah, some of us might have no business around one another. However, I am wholly influenced, we are to love. We are to do what we do best, think with the ability most men cannot. And no, nothing to me is more offensive than man bashing. But I know my man, and I know I am much more clever at creatively visualizing the other person’s side.
Even more, the women I have encountered offer love, even to the unlovable.
Remarkably, and without effort they are able to make space for that which most cannot fathom. Consequently, they believe in the unseen, having never stuck their suspicious fingers in the holes of our Beloved’s punctured hands. Faith in the hidden, and unshakeable belief… He will save.
So, tonight, I may not sleep. My mind is vividly alive with all the desires of my old and new friends’ hearts. I am anxious to see their stories unfold and grateful to have been invited to watch. While I am self-banished to the couch, too excited to sleep and too busy to dream. I am proud of the women I am coming to know and anxious to meet more tomorrow. But most of all, I am thrilled I was chosen for the role of a lifetime, the humanity of being… woman. It is an ever-changing character – fluid in conviction, quick to delight, offer understanding and insight. Most noteworthy, a far cry from who I was and a million miles from who I’ll be – and seen right now today just as He designed.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
By the grace of God, I am what I am. 1 Corinthians 15:10
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