Alive Project - The Carpenter, a debrief

I desperately want to move on. To write one of the two competing stories in my brain. However, this would mean leaving behind the space The Carpenter is taking up in my mind and since this story has so much to offer I can't simply leave it unrecorded. So I'm offering myself a sense of debrief by pausing the thoughts that are unfinished in my head and completing The Carpenter.

The night I read The Carpenter to my children I was not expecting their response. Let me be clear by saying that we allowed The Horse and His Boy, a volume of the great work by C.S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia, to go unread for the evening for this little story I had written at our kitchen table. I'm not sure about you, but when your kids choose you over your one of your most influential heroes it does something to boost your confidence.

So, I confided in them my little gem. This story that had bubbled up inside of me like a little spring that had been waiting to reach the surface. I allowed them to see the gnarled village and the love of The Carpenter as he scratched his way into the old man's home. I took them on the journey of the old man and the people who followed him up to the New City. I let them see a piece of my heart and the work that Jesus had revealed to me about the foundations of sand and stone.

When we were finish and I was tucking them in, I leaned over to kiss my daughter and she said lightly, "I know who The Carpenter is. It's Jesus." My sweet daughter could hear the voice of Jesus calling to her through this story. She knew it was Him by His love which is her deepest connection to Him. "But," she said, "who is the old man?"

This was a good question and could be a confusing one for my 5 and 6 year old. My daughter tried to wrap her head around it, "not Jesus, that's the Carpenter...but God? Maybe God?" I think instinctively she knew the answer, but her brain was not ready to make the leap. Here is where my son stepped in.

As I kissed his cheeks he whispered to me "It's us." That's right. It's us. The old man is sent by The Carpenter to tell others about what he has seen. He isn't asked to live solely in the New City nor only in the Valley. He's allowed to straddle both worlds in order to identify as a member of a new citizenship and also extend the love of The Carpenter to his tribe in the valley. My son knew it was us because of his deep connection to Jesus as well, his sense of mission.

The story of the wise man and the houses built on sand and stone took up new meaning for me during the writing of The Carpenter and through the responses of my children. Jesus tells us that this is what we are like when we hear the voice of God and follow the call, strong and steadfast. However, if we miss His voice or dismiss it, the Amplified version of Matthew 7:27 says our fall will be "great and complete".

I'm not sure I understand completely what our great and complete fall would be. However, I am certain that part of that fall will be missing the wholeness of being built up on the rock. That what we feel proud to call our achievement or autonomy may be the thing that is actually counteracting our solid footing.

I also know that part of that building is being willing to be the voice of God for others to hear so they too can be built up on the stoney foundation that leads to our strong standing. To be willing to step out in faith and into the torrents and storms to welcome others into the Kindgom because we are certain we will not fall. Our houses will stand. To not be afraid of the village because we know that the New City is right above our heads.

I am grateful for The Carpenter. I can't wait to see what else Jesus will show me as I dig deeper into His stories.

The Alive Project - The Carpenter

*This short story is part of The Alive Project, an experiment in my own creative capacity.

The Carpenter

Once there was a small town of sorry shacks on the sandy shore of a murky lake that no one really liked going through. In fact the town hadn’t had any visitors since the oldest man who lived in the oldest house at the end of the oldest street could remember. The people of the town were hard and difficult. They each only gathered enough grain for their own families and never planted more than what was necessary to take care of their own children. No one grew fruit or even raised chickens for eggs for fear that someone else may take their fruit because of it’s sweetness or that their extra eggs would go rotten before they could eat them all themselves.

No one shared anything and because of this the houses were in shambles. If someone knew how to fix their shed but didn’t have a hammer, they would never ask, and if someone had a hammer but didn’t know how to fix shed they’d cross their arms and sulk that they couldn’t get what they needed. But no one ever asked for help and no one ever gave it.

Because of this no one in the town ever worked very hard. Tending enough wheat for each family wasn’t hard, but it left people hungry. And not having the tools or knowledge to fix anything meant no work could ever be done. So mostly people sat on their sagging porches and sneered at each other. Everyone told everyone else what was wrong with their houses, or children, or clothes, or the way they grew their wheat or even the way they sat on their porches sneering. Everyone liked telling everyone else what to do, but no one wanted to help anyone actually do anything. So nothing ever got done.

That is pretty much how every day in the town past. Sour faced people with rumbly bellies and leaky roofs all whispering behind each other’s backs and giving advice without lifting a finger. If you had walked by this town I am sure you would have gone the long way around because it was so dusty and depressing and going through town would most certainly mean seeing the very worst of people. Thatis exactly what everyone thought about the town and that is why in a 100 years there had never been one well-fed, generous person who would dare be called a visitor.

Until the day The Carpenter showed up. The Carpenter had heard that the people of the town were living in sorry little shacks on the sandy shore of a murky lake. He had heard about all their finger-wagging, uncaring, selfish, prideful ways and decided it was time he visited the town to see for himself what was happening and maybe lend a helping hand.

So The Carpenter didn’t just ride through the town with a pack and a horse. No, no. When The Carpenter came to town he brought a wagon full of everything he would need to build. He was determined help the people fix their leaky roofs and sagging porches. So even though it was evening and beginning to get dark when he arrived, he stopped at the first house on the corner of the first lane in the town and knocked. Well, he tried to knock, but when he did his fist went straight through the rotted wood of the door. From inside the house he heard a shrill scream “Get out of here you! We have no extra grain, we don’t grow fruit or raise any chickens! We don’t want your hammer and we don’t know how to fix your wagon! So get, you hear! Get out of here!”

The Carpenter’s face fell as he slowly backed away from the door. He hoisted himself into the back of wagon and rummaged through his materials until he found a bright clean new door made of the finest wood. It wasn’t fancy,  not carved and decorated, just a simple clean whole door. He carefully dragged the door back to the porch of the house and returned to his wagon for his tool box. With his tools in tow he slowly and quietly removed the old door from it’s hinges and laid it by the rotting fence in the front yard. He fixed what he could of the door frame and artfully hung the new fresh door in the place of the one that had been rotted and broken. He wiped his brow and tucked his handkerchief into his back pocket.

He picked up his tools and the old door and headed back to his wagon. He lugged his tools into the back and then propped the splintery door on the wheel of the wagon before climbing in and settling down for the night in the makeshift bed he made for himself because no one in the town would dare house a stranger for the night.

In the morning he jumped down from his wagon and stood astonished by what he saw. The old rotted door was leaning haphazardly back in its original frame. While it was blocking the doorway, it certainly couldn’t keep anything out or in. And flung onto the overgrown weedy lawn was the fresh door. When The Carpenter approached the door it was clear it had been ripped from its hinges with nothing more than sheer force which had torn the screws from the wood and battered the surface so it was practically unusable. Scrawled into the face of the door were the simple words “WE DON’T WANT IT!”

It was clear The Carpenter was not welcomed. So he hoisted the door onto the back of the wagon, dusted off his hands, and turned himself down the street. He walked up to the next door and this time found a firmer place to knock. The response was the same as the night before “Get out of here you! We have no extra grain, we don’t grow fruit or raise any chickens! We don’t want your hammer and we don’t know how to fix your wagon! So get, you hear! Get out of here!”

The Carpenter knocked once more and again was rejected, “Can’t you hear me! WE DON’T WANT IT!”

Up and down the streets, one door after the next The Carpenter knocked doors and rang bells. At each house the response was much the same “Get out of here you! We have no extra grain, we don’t grow fruit or raise any chickens! We don’t want your hammer and we don’t know how to fix your wagon! So get, you hear! Get out of here! WE DON’T WANT IT!”

You would think The Carpenter would become discouraged. That he would see the town, every person, would not open the door, would not accept what he was offering. But instead of being discouraged, The Carpenter seemed more determined with every rejection. And at every shack he visited he changed something. The trail of where he’d been could be easily followed, but not in the way you would hope. 

At the corner of 5th and main you could see glittering shingles laying in the gutter flung from the roof of the neighboring house. In the 200 block of Elm five freshly painted mailboxes lay dented in the street having been struck from their posts shortly after installation. And down on the sandy shore by the murky lake gaping holes had been pried in the new boardwalk leaving it completely impassable. But still The Carpenter pressed on leaving his handiwork behind. Handiwork that every last townsperson threw back in the street.

Finally, The Carpenter had been to every street, lane, boulevard and avenue in the town. He had visited every run-down house, every decrepit old building, every tiny shack. Having been turned away from every door the Carpenter arrived at the entrance to the oldest lane. He took a deep breath, picked up his tool box and stepped deliberately onto the rocky gravel that lead to the oldest house owned by the oldest man.

The lane was long and after years of neglect had become pocked and pitted, making the long walk through low hanging branches difficult and dangerous. As The Carpenter approached the house he could make out the rooflines and details that suggested this house had once been regal, elegant, beautiful even. However, as he continued to walk his feet began to sink heavily into the sandy soil that was no longer supporting the grand old home. As he trudged through the sand he realized the building was also sinking, little by little over time into the gritty earth below. In fact, by the time he reached the front of the home it was clear he would have to stoop to enter, if he was allowed in, for the door itself was half buried and covered with grime.

As he had done a hundreds times before The Carpenter knocked confidently on the door. From inside the familiar response came “Get out of here you! I have no extra grain, I don’t grow fruit or raise any chickens! I don’t want your hammer and I don’t know how to fix your wagon! So get, you hear! Get out of here!” It was so familiar, however The Carpenter noticed something a little different about this man’s reply. His heart quickened and he knocked once more. “I -- I -- I don’t want it.” The voice from inside formed the familiar words, however the way they were said was hollow and some would say longing.

The Carpenter stood on the sand where the porch should have been and admired the hints of beauty that could still be seen on the old house. He lingered slightly longer than he had before and decided this time to knock once more. 

Faintly, this time, there were no words, however The Carpenter could clearly hear a sound he had not heard before in this town. While he had to strain to hear it, there was no mistaking, inside the house the old man was weeping.

The Carpenter dropped his tool box which landed with a thud on the sand and ran full speed back to his wagon at the beginning of the lane. He lept into the back and seconds later you could see him dragging his own makeshift bed from among his tools and materials. He rolled the thin mattress quickly and tucked it under his arm before turning and running once again straight for the old house.

When he reached the door he flung the bed roll to the side, fell to his knees and began to dig. He dug through the wet, heavy sand with his bare hands becoming covered with grit and grime until he revealed enough of the entrance to pry a space just large enough for himself and the mattress to fit. He squeezed through the door and disappeared into the collapsing old mansion.

Now no one knows for sure what happened in that old house that day. Later, when he was asked, the old man would simply reply “He came.” And come he did, right into the old man’s old house at the end of the old lane. He went in and didn’t come out. Not for one day or two or even three. No one can quite remember how long he took up residence in that rotted sinking manor, but everyone remembers the day he came back out again. It was the day before the rains came.

When The Carpenter emerged from the doorway he wasn’t alone. The old man was with him looking happier and younger than he had looked in decades. Together they walked right past the toolbox The Carpenter had dropped outside the door the day he arrived and instead of walking down the lane they turned the corner of the old house and continued into the backyard. They walked through the tall thickets and tangled brambles all the while laughing and joking about something no one could seem to understand which was strange because they were loud enough for everyone to hear.

They were only about 100 yards away from the old man’s house when the ground began to feel more solid beneath their feet and they began a gradual hike upward towards the bluffs surrounding the town. When they reached the plateau at the top of the cliff The Carpenter and the old man stopped to survey the landscape below. They couldn’t have been more than 75 feet higher than the town, but they might as well have been a world away. They stood talking to each other for several minutes before someone said they thought the old man wiped a tear from his eye and then turned their backs and disappeared, out of sight, beyond the edge.

The Carpenter was suddenly gone leaving behind his toolbox, his wagon, even his bed in the town. Everyone assumed the man and The Carpenter were gone for good. And then the rain started.

It rained and poured for days and days. The sandy shores of the murky lake became soaked with water and the houses built on the sand began to shift and sink, much like the old man’s house at the end of the oldest lane. The rains came steadily and as the townspeople’s homes began to sink panic spread throughout the town. Swarms of people raided The Carpenter’s abandoned wagon for tools and supplies trying desperately to save what was theirs. However, no one knew much about fixing and if they did they wouldn’t help their neighbor so there was no denying it, the town would inevitably sink straight from the sandy shores right into the murky lake.

Then one day, just as before a visitor came into town. Shielded by a large umbrella and walking steadily on foot the old man appeared on the edge of the bluff. The Carpenter was not with him, but had clearly shown him the easiest and most efficient way down into the valley below. He plodded systematically down the steep embankment, past his old home, down the old lane and out into the town square.

In the square he found that the top few stairs of city hall were still standing above the sand and climbed up to the portico. He folded his umbrella, tucked it under his arm and began to speak. As the rain poured onto his head soaking him from head to toe he spoke these words. “Up on the bluff there is a city. We could not see it, but it’s always been there. This city is built on the rock of the bluff so that it will not shift like this sand here below. Since your homes are sinking we would like for you to come. We will help you build your houses next to ours. We have plenty of extra grain, we grow sweet and delicious fruit for all to enjoy and we’d love to have some friends to share the eggs our chickens lay for us! We’ll need whatever hammers you have and if you know how to fix things we’ll need your knowledge too! So before you sink right into the lake, come with me and get out of here soon!”

The people in the town felt desperate. Each of them knew that their houses were sinking, each of them was sure they would be swallowed by the murky lake. However, some of the townspeople replied in the all too familiar way “WE DON’T WANT IT!” They dug in their heels and retreated into their swampy living rooms determined to wait out the storm.

However, others trusted what the old man had to say. Many of them had known this man their whole lives. While they had never seen a house on the bluff, this man was not a liar and he looked well fed and happy; while they could still feel the furrows in their brows and the rumbling in their bellies. Some went right away, following the man up the bluff and over the cliff, but others stayed until the man came again the next day with the same message, and the next and the next.

Each day as the rains expanded the lake the man came and each day houses were further and further surrounded, first the porches, then the windows, then to the rooflines. Each day one or two or ten families followed the man, but there were still some who refused. The man’s invitation never changed and he never pleaded or begged. He simply offered and those were ready followed him up the hill as he told the story of how The Carpenter came and the ways of the people on the bluff.

Eventually the man realized that the lake would soon wash away the path he had been using to visit the people of the town. He decided one morning this would be his last visit to the valley. He delivered his message as normal and before leaving to return to the bluff he stopped at each remaining family's home and scrawled in the rotted wood of the rooftops “COME! WE WANT YOU!”

The rains continued to come until the houses were covered, leaving only a few scattered rooftops peeking out from the midst of the murky lake. Each of which reads “COME! WE WANT YOU!” 

The people who remained in the valley have all moved into canvas tents and tiny lean tos around the edge of the lake. They grow sparse foods and their homes are even more rickety than before. Their bellies are just as rumbly and their brows are even more furrowed.

Thousands of the townspeople found their way to the New City on the bluff following the path The Carpenter had made with the old man on the first day they disappeared over the cliff. You can still see today where there is a ladder flung over the edge to aid anyone in the valley below should they want to make their way to the New City. Every day you can find someone from the New City among the sagging structures with a basket of eggs, new canvas for better tents, or strong wood for roofs. Sometimes one of the people from the valley will take something out of desperation and occasionally a family will allow someone from the New City to stay awhile and help them rebuild with the new materials. However, most of these items lay discarded on the banks of the lake and often, even after a tent or lean to has been remade those who live in the Valley rarely ever leave.

However, every so often you will see, sometimes in the dark of night, one or two people emerge from their tent and climb up the ladder towards the light that is always left lit for those who will come up onto the bluff and over the cliff into the New City where The Carpenter is building with them side by side, every day the homes he has always been wanting to give them. Homes built on the solid rock of the bluff that will never shift or sink into the sandy shore of the murky lake.

The Alive Project - A Reintroduction

Almost two years ago I embarked on my first Alive Project. That project sent me on an incredible journey learning to understand and identify with women in the margins. In the time between that project and this posting I have lived a different kind of Alive Project, one which you can read about in my Adoption posts. These eye-opening experiences have changed my experience with the outside world and I am so grateful for the love and passion for people that has been cultivated in my heart since beginning The Project. 

I have found that now is the time for the Alive Project to turn inward. For the last two years, especially in the last year, I have relied heavily on the pragmatic side of myself. In order to keep the wheels of life turning I unwittingly sacrificed the creative side of me, my true self. I have believed that who I am as a creative individual is not as necessary or fulfilling to the Kingdom of God and have exchanged abundant living for sacrificial work. While these things go hand in hand they are void without each other.

I would like to reintroduce the Alive Project back to the blog. Admittedly, I am hesitant to categorize this next chapter as The Project. However, I feel as though creativity and self-expression often produce the most beautiful portraits of the Kingdom. I have certainly believed that for others and I find that Jesus Himself told beautiful stories and used His creative power to show and tell us about the Kingdom of God. In fact, the jump start for this project is a passage of scripture where Jesus describes why he told stories to people. He tells the disciples He is laying ground work for hearts that are so unaccustomed to hearing news of the Kingdom that they need a softer version of the message to ready them for the gospel.

During this chapter of the Alive Project it is my intention to post at least one creative project per week. I will draw inspiration from the Parables and Miracles of Christ and from the Work of Jesus in Nature and Humanity. I have already begun the project and will post my first short story based on the Parable of the Houses Built on Sand and Rock soon. 

I encourage you, as you read through the Alive Project for the next few months to join me. Reflect on your true self and try something that is purely for joy, for abundance and to feel truly yourself because this is an Act of Worship. Please post in the comments links to your blog or pictures of what you are working on. Let us encourage one another in the ways we have been made. Let's celebrate together the diversity of the Kingdom and the Savior who has set us free to be exactly who He has created to be!

Experiment 1: The Action of Empathy

* The Alive Project is a series of experiments based on the leading of the Holy Spirit to experience the daily life of another with the express purpose of acknowledging and understanding the heart of God towards His created order. 

For those of you following The Alive Project, this is the fourth post in the first experiment: Menstrual Cups. Little did I know when I made the decision to make a switch in my own personal hygiene practices that it would lead to real change in my heart and mind regarding my own femininity and the value of safe, effective, sustainable hygiene practices around the world.

The original article that jump started this journey for me has never been far from my heart and mind. In fact Sabrina Rubli's piece, "How Menstrual Cups are Changing Lives in East Africa" is the number one search result in my Google search option. Her insight to the life changing effect of cups in Kenya was compelling enough for me to make a switch and begin to discover a new side of myself and a new connection with women around the world.

In my discoveries based on the experiment I reached out to a friend I know who works at World Vision in Chicago. World Vision (WV) is an international partnership of Christians whose mission is to follow our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in working with the poor and oppressed to promote human transformation, seek justice, and bear witness to the good news of the Kingdom of God. Tony and I already support the mission of WV and around the world and instead of reinventing the wheel, it was my desire to join them where they may be working in this field. The results of that initial Facebook message to my friend have been interesting and sent my heart on a new and exciting journey.

She did a little digging and sent me a four year old article from the Lunette Cup website detailing the specifics of a special holiday program Lunette and WV Finland ran in tandem in 2010. Together, Lunette and WV raised enough money to provide material for over 7,000 cloth pads to be made the women of Sook, Kenya to promote safer, more hygienic periods and provide a source of income for the women manufacturing the pads. As a result, women were gaining economic ground and continuing their educations, formerly abruptly ended by several factors including the onset of menses.

WV continued their efforts in Sook where they have seen countless women gain confidence and hope for their educational future. As a result, hundreds of women and men have begun to speak out against the cultural practice of Female Genital Mutilation, now outlawed in Kenya, but still regularly practiced in villages at the onset of menses before a woman is married. FGM involves the removal of the outer genitals and, among other things, signifies a young woman (as young as 12) is ready to be married, represents the end of her formal education, and presents trouble in child bearing.

WV has, for the past several years provided an escape for women trapped in the cycle of FGM propagated by their families, especially older women. WV has constructed an all girl school with dormitories for those who have been cast out by family members for the refusal of FGM. Women here are continuing their education and becoming active members of their communities. Men as well are beginning to note the dangers of FGM both physically and communally and have begun to speak out against the practice. WV's efforts in Sook, Kenya are changing the landscape for women and men, creating a more equal society reflective of the Kingdom of God.

The question all of this rises in my heart is this, where do I fit in? I have been in touch with one of the women at WV Finland working closely with this project and I am excited to understand more of how I can support WV's efforts, not only in Sook, but around the world as their program grows.

I have found that empathy not only encourages connection but it also spurs forward action. This is what I feel, in part, Jesus must have been talking about when He explained His overflow. What the writer of Proverbs expressed when he let us in on the wisdom that "out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." Actions predicated on anything but Jesus' own love for His people will undoubtedly turn into something other than Kingdom glory. However, if our actions are flowing from the Love of Jesus welled up in our hearts then the Kingdom advances.

So, I find myself on a Kingdom journey. Seeking to understand how God views His people, not just women, but men and children. My desire is to understand how my heartbeat matches God's and march to that rhythm. I am honestly astounded the paths that this journey is taking, but I am loving walking through it as a member of God's holy priesthood, as member of His family, as a member of a humanity He cherishes.

If you would like more information on the mission and vision of World Vision please visit their website. For more on the work Lunette and World Vision have begun click here. Visit our Amazon Affiliate link at get your own Menstural Cups.

I will continue posting as the experiment moves forward and more ways to support safe feminine hygiene practices present themselves. In the meantime, why not start your own Alive Project? Here's a starting point: What is God calling you to that seems insignificant, but would radically change an aspect of your own life? Comment here and jump start your own journey in empathy, connection and coming Alive!

Experiment 1: Out of the shadows

* The Alive Project is a series of experiments based on the leading of the Holy Spirit to experience the daily life of another with the express purpose of acknowledging and understanding the heart of God towards His created order.  

Every girl is ashamed of their period. We are taught it is gross and unseemly and dirty. We are taught to hide it away to cover up all traces of it. Flush it, throw it away, in some situations BURN it. We are taught it is ugly. There is something about a cup on your counter that you can't ignore. For some reason, some how it is bringing my period out of the shadows for me. And along with my period it is bringing something of my personhood with it.

I have always been a firm believer in the equality of the sexes. I believe men and women were created with unique assets, and we live in compliment to one another. When working in tandem we represent a whole picture of the character of God and the working of His hands. What I have failed to realize is how unusual this idea really is and how affected our society, our world, even our churches are by the idea that women, in some way are inferior because of the structure of our bodies, our minds and our reproductive systems.

Researching the empowerment that the cup is bringing to women around the world I am excited for the future. Women who have been hidden away because of the shame of their period are now able to go to school, enter the workforce, provide for their families and generally go about daily life in vital ways that before they were unable to. Who are these women and what do they have to offer the world? I wonder with this change in the landscape of femininity around the world, what will the women of the world remind us we are capable of or where we need to be brought out of the shadows in our own corner of the world.

Around 2 days into the experiment I started to realize what the cup was doing for these women, and then I started to realize the liberation that may mean for them in the long run. It forced me to look at my own freedom as a woman and the limitations I have accepted from others based on my gender and to be honest, I got mad! I sat on my couch expressing my heart to my husband and trying to understand my own feelings towards my femininity and the way I am marginalized because of it.

I find that in most arenas in my life I am accepted as an equal of great value. Tragically, I find the one place I struggle with my femininity is inside the organized church. I am saddened to say, as a woman with gifts of teaching, shepherding and discernment I feel displaced in the structure of the American evangelical church. I remember telling a dear friend and mentor that if I were a man I would be a pastor, but because I am a woman I don't know what to do. The answer I have found is that I am welcome to use my gifts, for children and for other women. In short, in the current dynamic, don't speak to loudly and when you do make it palatable and super cute and easy to swallow.

As a woman in the church I have felt the pressure to follow my thirst for theology and practical Christ-like living to a certain point, but then to let the men in my life take over the teaching of these principles and the decision making as far as how those principles are to be administered.  I have received a subtle yet steady message not to teach, not to speak, not to think too hard in almost every way that doesn't have to do with my own children or "lesser" women.

This saddens me and to be truthful angers me. Mostly because this is not the dynamic I see in the teachings of Jesus and certainly not in the personal, one on one interaction of His body, which is the Church. So why then, does the inferiority of women sink its way into the hierarchical structure of the institution of the organized church? I think it is a deep misunderstanding of a few key verses and the omission of countless stories of women who helped form the lineage of Christ and the 1st century church.

How many times have you heard the story of Tamar, Jael, Rahab, Ruth, Phoebe and Tabitha? How often have you heard the stories of Mary and Martha told in another way besides how to "let go" as a hostess? When have you heard the stories of women with churches in their homes, women with a place among Jesus' disciples, those He loved and nurtured, or those who honored Him with their gifts? I hope you've heard these stories countless times! I've rarely heard them, only a handful of times from the front on a Sunday morning and NEVER spoken by a woman when men are present.

I don't want women to be in charge, only Jesus should be there. I just want women to be represented well in the Kingdom. I don't want women to get more playing time, just what is actually there in the scriptures for us to learn from. Women are an integral and dynamic part of God's plan for the world, just as much, not more than, not less than, men. The beauty of the creation of two genders was not a mistake, not an afterthought. The sexes together, in unity represent the beauty of God Himself. I think we loose some of that beauty when we take away the feminine voice in the church.

It is easy for me to become angry at this discrepancy in the organized church. That we say we are all equal, but when it comes to brass tacks the way we view women is lesser-than. However, I am reminded that anger is not a productive emotion. I am allowed to feel it, but unless given to Jesus, relinquished to Him, it only turns bitter. In giving my anger to God He has given me something else, empathy. What I have been asking for. He is showing me that feeling these emotions helps me connect with others. Through that connection He is making His Kingdom real to me and is strengthening the bonds of unity with women I have never met.

I have to imagine that if I feel this way about my womanhood in a very free and supportive environment, what must these women feel? Not only that, but how can I as a woman who lives this way reach out and support those who are marginalized not just in one or two ways, but in nearly every arena?! I don't know. I know that some of our tithe this month is going to buy menstrual cups. I know also that I will pray. I will pray for these women. Pray for their families. Pray for their communities, their teachers, their doctors, their men. I will pray for them, because prayer changes things. Prayer moves things.

I love that these revelations became a part of my thought process right before Martin Luther King Jr. Day. My respect and love for this man blossomed 10-fold as I realized that what he stood for is what I stand for and what every Christ follower should stand for. A world that is equal. Where people are seen as individuals. Where we love each other equally. Listen to each other equally. Value each other equally. A world where we look at each other as people who are distinct and unique and useful. I believe we are moving toward that, but we have some work to do. Not in anger or bitterness, but in the Spirit of unity that Jesus gives us because He loves us all.

Experiment 1: Choices

* The Alive Project is a series of experiments based on the leading of the Holy Spirit to experience the daily life of another with the express purpose of acknowledging and understanding the heart of God towards His created order.

Here's the thing. I have choices. I do not have to use this thing. This is what I'm thinking as I look down at these instructions:

This is totally my choice. No one is making me do this. I'm glad I didn't see this before I started:

I'm not a freaking rocket scientist you guys! This looks complicated. Nevermind the package directions also instruct me to "rotate the cup one full rotation once it is in place to ensure a proper seal against your cervix". Hubba, wha? I'm folding this thing, shoving it up my hoots and then twisting it until it SUCTIONS itself to me! Wait didn't that lady on Amazon say that's what she was going to the hospital for?!

I'm thinking about all my choices as I stand in my kitchen looking over this thing. I have a half a box of tampons in my cabinet. I think I just cleaned some postpartum pads out of my drawers. I could honestly just send my husband to the store on his way home. My choices are not menstrual cup or mud. My choices are menstrual cup and literally anything else in the known universe specifically made for collecting my period fluid and disposing of it nicely. Some of these methods do not even involve putting anything inside my body. That sounds good right now!

I'm starting to think I made a mistake. By the way, you cannot just send these things back. I'm glad you can't, that would not make me feel good about purchasing them. I am seriously considering my options. Then I realize that this is not WWIII. It is not the end of the civilized world. This is not some sort of political or religious movement, this is a little cup. Just do it.

So I breath deep, fold, and...it's not so...oh no...it is...it's good...yikes...no...oh there we go...hm...maybe, got it. Got it? Got it! Okay good. Stand up...ugh...guess it wasn't unfolded. Well, it is now. Wait and see I guess.

Let's be honest. This thing is taking some getting used to. I suppose any time you try something new it takes getting used to. I literally didn't use tampons until college because I couldn't figure them out. The margin for trial and error here is small. If you've got it right you know within two seconds of standing up, if you don't you're gonna have to sit back down. It's different getting used to this, but I think it will be worth it in the long run.

I am starting to realize something, though, by entering this process. I do have choices. I have a lot of choices. Like I said my choices are not mud or mattress pickings. My choices are not stay home from school or be ridiculed. My choices are not spend money on food or tampons. My choices are anything and everything.

okay, this is not a thing, but almost

 I can have ANYTHING I want in regards to my period. Anything! I want tampons, okay. I want pantyliners, sure. I want pads, just in case, no problem. I want chocolate, of course. I want my husband to get me some ice cream, and put the kids to bed, and rub my back while we watch the show I choose, check, check, and check. You want it, you got it! I am terribly spoiled. It doesn't make me bad, but it does make me hard.

I was going to say "soft", but I think that is so wrong. Getting what I want, having what I need is making me hard. It's solidifying me in my autonomy from the world. It's making me impenetrable to the suffering and heartache and true inconveniences of the world because, to me, there are no true obstacles (so I think). Having anything and everything I want for the incidentals of my life is making me entitled to them. It's making me angry when I don't get anything and everything I want in absolutely everything. Barf. The tendency to make these things all about me is so overwhelming it's sickening.

Time and again while trying to get this thing right I thought about what it must be like to be a 12-year-old girl in an outhouse trying to teach herself this before school. Wishing and hoping that it will work so that she can go and learn. I think about a mother receiving a menstrual cup and wondering if this will allow her to buy more food for her babies next month. I think about young girls with dreams and mud, trying to decide between humiliation and hygiene. It's gut-wrenching.

photo by Femme International

When confronted with my choices I am also confronted with the lack of choices for millions of women around the world. My sympathy wants to save them, my empathy wants to know them. I'd love to meet these women. Hear their stories. Ask them why they chose the cup. It seems so simple, trivial, dumb really. Yet it seems important. I'm sure their reasons are so fundamentally different from mine, but that choice unites us as women. It's a choice we all have to make.

It's a choice I'm glad I've made because I feel connected to these women. I don't know them. I haven't met them, but I know something about them. I have made a conscious choice to align myself with them. They matter to me because...well, simply, they matter. They always have, I'm just aware of it now.

This isn't the end of the experiment, in fact, it's only day 1. I feel as though I've learned so much, but once you know something you start to feel something, and once you start to feel something...watch out...

Experiment 1: The "What" Cup?

The Alive Project is a series of experiments based on the leading of the Holy Spirit to experience the daily life of another with the express purpose of acknowledging and understanding the heart of God towards His created order. 

This is my first experiment: The Menstrual Cup
 
A couple of years ago my chiropractor, who is awesome, tried to get me to try one of these bad boys:

 

This is a menstrual cup, if you live in the Midwestern United States and know what this is you are probably also familiar with the benefits baby wearing, were to locate a Kombucha starter, and not only what an essential oil is but how to use it effectively to cure almost anything. For the rest of us, this is what you might guess it is. You fold it up, stick it in, and dump it when appropriate during your cycle. Basically it's a reusable alternative to a tampon. Let's be honest, it doesn't look like a BETTER alternative. Oh, did I mention you have to fish it out with your fingers and clean it after each "wear"? It's also the size of an espresso cup. Yeah, thanks but no thanks, Dr. Laura.

And that's just what I told her. The menstrual cup is not for me. I have three kids and an active lifestyle. I am not always at home to dump and clean a silicone cup after each use. I don't have gads of time on my hands to figure out how to "suction" (yeah, that's right) it properly against my cervix every time I have to reinsert it. Let's be honest I'm not too keen on the idea of "reinsertion" anyway. Also, I'm not sure when the last time you went to the bathroom alone was, but I'm pretty sure the last time I had my period I had to explain to my 4 year old daughter what a "mommy bandaid" was. You know if they don't have it at Target it's probably not even a real thing anyway.

Every month these and many other excuses kept me from lugging myself out to Whole Foods to pick up a Diva Cup. Even though I contemplated making the switch to the cup, every cycle I would dutifully buy a box of Kotex and an extra package of pads for the Family Promise ministry at my kids' preschool. I felt like I was using this unavoidable chore to help someone else and accomplish what I needed, building "service" into my everyday life. This was fine, until this image popped up on my newsfeed last week, the week before my period mind you: 

The image was accompanied by this headline "How Menstrual Cups Are Changing Lives In East Africa". Now you must understand that if you put something on my newsfeed with the word "Changing Lives" in the title I am about 75% likely to click it, but couple that with those little hands and an image of something that I had already been thinking about, feeling nudged toward...forget it, I'm reading that article, and I AM going to cry about it.

The article laid out how young women in East Africa were using the cup as an alternative to their other sources of relief from bleeding. The author sites "leaves, newspaper, rags, cotton, bits of mattress stuffing, even mud" as routinely utilized methods to provide protection for women in parts of the world where a package of pads cost $1.00, around three-quarters of a days wage in some cases. 

In some complete craziness the author details how menstrual cups are changing these women's lives. Because the cups are reusable for up to 15 years women are gaining economically stable ground. Because they only have to change them once every 12 hours, girls can go to school during their period when they normally could not. Women in East Africa are gaining freedom and confidence as a result of this small silicone cup!

Well, that was it for me. I got off Facebook and logged onto Amazon to check these suckers out. Yikes! Reading the reviews was beyond excruciating. One that particularly stood out was "going to the hospital, this thing is suctioned to my cervix and won't come off, THE PAIN!" Yeah, not a selling point. Apparently there is a lot of controversy with these little guys. I wasn't sure. That paired with the fact that the initial investment is about $30 and I wasn't sure I was going to like it, I signed off and that was that. 

But I kept thinking about it. And those girls in Africa. I kept going back over the pros and cons. I kept weighing  the decision in my head. So I decided to do what any rational woman would and go to the one person who would understand this decision...my husband.

Hilarious right?! I told him I was thinking to switching to this "cup" thing and he had a few questions, duh! After talking frankly about it for a little bit he was indifferent and basically said "whatever". I told him I didn't really care either except for this one thing...These women...in Africa...it's changing their lives. Remarkably, my husband understood. He understood that I wanted to understand and he said, "Go for it!" 

So, I ordered my Diva Cup. Size Two please (yes, they have sizes). And I waited. My period was coming soon. I'd give it a try. If I hate it I hate it. If not great! It'll save us some money in the long run. 

And so, with one click of the mouse, The Alive Project was underway, but I didn't know it then. I pretty much thought that I was just switching my hygiene practices. I didn't know what it was going to bring up in me. I didn't even think to think about how I would feel about it. I'm sure that's why when it came in the mail and I started wearing it what happened to my heart surprised me.

 

The Alive Project

What does it mean to be Alive? Truly alive? Not what does it mean to be me, simply what does it mean to BE? This question has been nagging me as of late. I want to know, not only what it is to be a white, suburban, middle-class, American, woman. I want to know what it is to be human. I have found myself so wrapped up in my own culture and experience that the world outside of my small sphere of influence seems like a setting in a book with the characters only coming to life when I choose to open the cover, break the binding and begin reading. When it gets to be too much, I simply close the book, stick it on the shelf and go about my daily life. It’s what I call my “Other People Problem.”

I remember admitting to my husband a truth I have been ashamed of my whole life, my “Other People Problem”. I turned to him after some sort of conversation about someone or something and said, “I just have such a problem with the concept of other people.” He was, understandably taken aback, because, of course, everyone understands the concept of other people. However, as I went on to process my own thoughts it became apparent to me that the main issue in my “Other People Problem” is simply that I cannot see things how other people see them. I deeply want to understand what other people are thinking and feeling, but I have no clue how to connect with them. Outside of the small number of people I call my friends and family I cannot understand the human dynamic. In short, I have NO empathy.

When thinking about this today I ran across a posting by a good friend of mine of Facebook. It was this short video made with excerpts from a lecture by Dr. Brené Brown on the differences between Sympathy and Empathy. Her words and the truth of them struck to the heart of my “Other People Problem”. The truth of the matter is, I have LOADS of sympathy, but very little empathy. I am really good at feeling bad for you, but I am terrible at feeling with you.

Dr. Brown says this in the video, “Empathy is a vulnerable choice because in order to connect with you I have to connect with something within myself that knows that feeling.” I think this may come to the order of what it is to be alive. That in some way empathy is innately tied to the nature of God and therefore to us as His created beings. This is a marker on the path that I have been walking toward, a “signpost”, if you will, on the journey towards what it means to be truly alive.

This confirms in my spirit what I believe God has been telling me about myself and my journey over the last few years. Knowing that life is not just about me or my personal relationship with God, though this is important; but understanding that God desires me to feel what He feels for His world. He desires me to empathize, to feel what the world feels and to feel what He feels for His world. In this great cyclical pattern I can begin to connect with others and also with the heart of God Himself.  When I have empathy with others I begin to have empathy with God. I begin to understand how He feels about His creation, humanity, the workings of the world. As I connect with the created, I begin to connect with the Creator.  

And so, I have decided to embark on The Alive Project, the aim of which is to connect with the world that God loves so much. I don’t know how long the project will last or what it will entail, but I do know that God is pushing me further into the reality of His heart and His Kingdom on Earth. There is very little criterion for what experiments will comprise the breadth of the project, only this, the leading of the Holy Spirit to experience the daily life of another with the express purpose of acknowledging and understanding the heart of God towards His created order. 

I cannot wait to share with you the most recent experiment and how it has changed me. It is interesting and mundane all at the same time, but it is worthy and holy. Several posts on each experiment will follow. As long as Jesus leads me, I will follow, choosing to say “yes” to connection. Choosing to move forward. Choosing to live fully ALIVE.