Maybe it’s taken all of my thirty-seven years
maybe it’s been a winding road
I like security.
I am guilty
of looking for it
in the arms of my husband
in the balance in my bank account
in the qualities of my friendships.
Over the past several years
these traditional forms of security
have taken a bit of a free fall in my life.
I have been forced
at the feet of Jesus Himself.
But even after all that falling
His gracious picking me back up,
is still tempted
to jump back to those very familiar forms
of (counterfeit) peace.
So I must do the hard work of
daily (hourly) directing
If I pick up a book and the back cover says something like “Smart women leave messy marriages. They discover their independence. They refuse to forgive. They think about themselves first.”
I put it down.
I put it down.
If a song comes on the radio about seeking revenge,
about hurting as you’ve been hurt,
I change that channel.
I play another tune.
If a friend encourages me to disparage my spouse,
to indulge in self-pity,
to decide what the world owes me and to focus on receiving my rightful dues,
I step away from that conversation.
I share my story before a different heart.
The world preaches about strong in ways both large and small.
And the women who seem to embody mainstream strong
are takers, pushers.
I say to that . . .
Don’t talk to me about strength.
I know strength.
And I know
in each body.
And it’s only
lack of experience
that leads us to believe that
one strength must resemble another strength
any more than we should believe that
one woman must resemble another woman.
All kinds of strength keep us strong.
And all these years
and all this journey
are showing me
does not look like
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