I am tempted to neaten this up, and edit it a bit but I will leave it as it is. Some real feelings here, so take it for what it's worth...at least, hopefully it's honest:
BELIEVE IT OR NOT...
Sometimes I forget that
I am a WOMAN in ministry...
Something I always remembered 30 years ago,
serving as a student intern
At one of those all-male-ushers-wear-a fake-carnation
churches (which of course is a stereotype...it was a good church)
I was told there, to never wear open toed sandals again
when I served communion at the rail
Someone, who had her head down, praying, had seen
and complained about my painted toenails.
Sometimes now, I forget that I am a WOMAN in ministry...
But then, it happens.
As I sit crocheting hats for the homeless
In a meeting of leaders, mostly male
And I try to hold my tongue
And try to hide the tension in my shoulders
And that my confidence is so low.
And anyway, I know I will be perceived as
too soft if I speak that "l" word again.
"Love" of course.
Love of pastors
Love of churches
Love tomorrow morning as I sit down at my first
fall charge conference
In a musty church basement way out in the country
Five people present
Related by blood and spirit
And I will listen as they tell me how much
they love their lay pastor
And we will eat American cheese and Ritz crackers
And drink ice tea.
And as I leave I will look at the beautiful cemetery
Out back of the church.
And I will think of a mother's tears that watered the earth
And the brave widows
and the husband who ached his way to the grave of his one
true love.
Tomorrow, I will be quiet and listen
As they share their lives with me, those basement folks.
But today, with sadness (and tears later, of course, driving home, where only a friend could
hear by phone)
I had listened as I sat in the meeting and felt unheard (my fault, only, perhaps)
And unable to explain
Sitting among the masculine confidence that can, most of the time,
steady and assure me so.
I sat.
I thought again what it means to be a Mother Sheep.
To be glad to be one.
Could I ever say it out loud in a venue like today
Without being demeaned or belittled (yes, my perspective only)
How to stay proud of my own strength
Without being so confident that I leave no room for others
To help me understand my weakness.
And how to love those guys
Despite my belief that they never will completely understand.
I am a woman and, praise Jesus, I am a mother
And I am a mother sheep.
And grateful for all of that
And grateful to the One who carries mothers
On his shoulders
And whom I hope I one day will hear say to me,
"Well done, my love."
8 comments:
Susan,
Thanks for your words, for your tears, and for your willingness to share both. Who knows how much your work has already softened and hardened world?
Susan,
TY sooo, much. As a man it is always good for me to hear yours and others, stories of women. I try so hard to understand, but I realize I never will. You my friend and mentor help me much. Keep up the good work with all your heart....
I have your 9/7 poem on my work desk.
Through your example over the years, you have instilled inspiration and a sense of confidence for other females that also feel some insecurites and perhaps even a sense of oppression from their working male peers.
Stay in there, you are planting seed.
I find your words to be a blessing to me on so many levels. Thank you for sharing so honestly and openly. You are among the strong women I celebrate as I myself grow into my role as a woman in ministry.
Peace.
Susan, Your memories of your first church and the open toed shoes made many memories come flying back to consciousness. Thanks for the reminder, for sharing, for nameing that which I have not been able to name.
I think my current appointment is that "no open toed shoes" place.
Yes they still exist - and yes my sandals are with open toes and yes my toes are painted and yes I celebrate wearing my sandals. (smile)
Hmmm
I seem to be striking a nerve with this. Keep those comments coming!
i LOVE this post!
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