Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Dear Daughters, Don't Dress Modestly For Men

Our first girl baby? "Oh gravy!" I thought. I hated pink, anything shaped as a heart, glitter, bling and princesses. How in the world was I going to raise a girl? I soothed my fears, "Maybe, she'll be a tom-boy!" 12 years later; here's my tom-boy...

body image. parenting, eating disorders

Our second girl baby? Ok, ok, more pink than I could possibly imagine was floating through our washing machine. And a countless number of Mark's white undershirts turned pink along the way. Maybe, just maybe, this one was going to win the "raging bull" award. Here's my raging bull (notice the all pink ;)





Our third girl baby?  God works in mysterious ways. Maybe this third girl would be the least girly-girl in our possession..... 

UH........



We should have just painted the entire house pink. It was a done deal. 

In June of 2007, we had 3 girls, 3 and under. My innards began to cringe. These 3 babies were going to grow out of being babies, and I was the one that was going to teach them the dance of womanhood. They were going to take their cues from me. Bless it.
  
Before Katie could speak, I determined in my heart that clothes were not going to be the battle I bellowed from my motherhood mountain top. My mom and I went ROUNDS regarding clothing. As an adult, I can easily unpack my mom's fierce determination when it came to clothing. In hindsight, I understand why it was so important to her. This knowledge enabled me to make solid decisions on behalf of my girls and their growing wardrobes. 

We have basically one rule when it comes to clothing; it cannot be "unappropriate". Lucy coined the term, "unappropriate" when she was little watching some scantily clad NFL cheerleader on TV. The term just stuck.

In August, I wrote an article for Shattered Magazine called, Dear Anna Duggar, Josh's Ashly Madison Affair Is Not Your Fault. My motivation behind that article is my same motivation behind today's article; FREEDOM!

We are sending SUCH confusing signals to our precious young woman, and I cannot help but want to intervene. I am a woman, and I am in the process of raising 3 more women.

On one side of the coin our young woman are bombarded in youth chapels, purity ring talks and youth group sermons with the message, "Girls, you need to dress modestly so that you do not stumble your brothers in Christ."

And seriously, within 1.2 seconds of saying "I do" at the altar, women are hearing in the adult services, Sunday Schools and from the pulpit, "women if your husband has sexual struggles, it's your fault for being such a prude!"

SO.MUCH.CONFUSION.

Men, lean in close, penning a woman's sexual story is not some chapter book that first gets opened the night of your honeymoon. There are many, many chapters before you even entered the scene, sir.

It is paralyzingly complicated to tell a girl her whole life not to have sex before marriage, dress more discreetly... even more discreetly than THAT. And then VOILA, when the fairy god-mother shakes her wicked wand, women are to become tigrous in the bedroom so our husbands don't stray.

Both turns of the coin lay the entire blame of men's struggle on the shoulders of women. Both before AND after marriage.

Men, can you possibly see how painful it is to carry this monologue our whole lives?
How YOUR sexual struggle is routinely laid at OUR doorstep?

In the words of my favorite Jen Hatmaker, this is  "horsecrappery!"

Now, please do not hear what I am NOT saying.

Do I think it is important for a woman to be a part of a healthy, sexual relationship with her husband? Yes! Yes! Yes! But for the reasons I outlined in my article with Shattered.

Do I think it is important for women to dress modestly? Yes, but not because of all the reasons you've been told your whole life.

When the men in your life are being honest with you about their struggle, they will tell you that a mannequin fully clothed can be added to the visual rolodex of their "struggle". Welcome to reality.

That is why as women, we have to be motivated to dress modestly by something completely independent of men and their struggle.

Can I propose something completely revolutionary here?

How about we encourage our girls to dress modestly FOR THEMSELVES??
I know, your brain just BLEW UP!

Imagine this. From the time our girls entered this world, their bodies were treated and respected as holy ground. Divine, unique and exquisite pieces of art. What if we so taught them to be in love with their own skin and their own shape, that they literally OWNED IT! They so adored the masterpiece God made with their bodies, the only logical option left in their mind was to protect it and guard it to the death.

What if we never ONCE described or identified our young women by their body shapes: skinny, fat, over weight, ugly, beautiful, big-boned, tiny, large, pear, hour glass, having gained weight, having lost weight, small chested, big chested, no chested, and the putrid list goes on and on.

What if from BIRTH we described them and identified them by naming their GIFTS?!

"This is Katie, she is the kindest soul you'll ever meet!"
"This is Julia, she is the most creative soul you'll ever meet!"
"This is Lucy, she is the most life-giving soul you'll ever meet!"

What if we could re-write the internal narrative of insecurity with a narrative of overflowing pride and confidence in whom our God designed our daughters to be?

Can you imagine the implications?

Long before our daughter's bodies are stumbling blocks to the pimpled-nosed, pubescent boy; we MUST FIRST reach deeper into THEIR stories and paint on THEIR canvases with pride, confidence, stability, tenderness towards themselves, knowledge and education of their bodies, GRACE so much grace for the changing seasons she'll forever be walking through.

The National Eating Disorders Association  records that by elementary age (6-12) girls are already expressing dissatisfaction in their weight and body figure.  A concern that will lead them to the join the 20 million women in the US that have an eating disorder or anxiety disorder.

Most women I know hate their bodies, or at least something about their bodies.
Truth? There are things I hate about my own body.

*tears roll*

Isn't it time we do better for the next generation? Our daughters, our future daughter in-laws, our nieces, our students, our neighbors, our granddaughters and most importantly OURSELVES?!!!

Maybe, just maybe could we stand up and fight against the objectification of women every.where.we. look? In our churches, communities, schools, tv shows, news casts, sporting events, newspapers, movies, and magazines.

Sweet Val would walk into any grocery store or gas station and systemically begin to flip magazines over, "Nobody needs these images in their head," she would smile and say. I used to think she was talking about boys and men not needing those images. Today, I realize she meant herself, my sister and me.

Gosh, she was SO right!

I'm so over it.
I'm so done with the glamorization of the Honey Boo-Boo's in our world.
I want to fight with everything in me to NOT pass down this generational sin of insecurity and self-hatred to my daughters.

I want something so much sweeter, so much kinder, so much more bearable for them to carry.

I want to give them the gift of life. The gift of REALLY loving their bodies.

Today, I'm writing a new story for myself.
Today, I'm writing a new story for my girls.
Today, you should begin a new story for yourself.
Today, you should begin a new story for all the young girls and women in your life.

Today, let's begin anew!
~Sara






  

   

Monday, November 9, 2015

Dear Mamas With Small Children

Dear Mamas With Small Children,

If I could, I'd steal you away and make you come sit on my porch for an entire day of rest. It's getting a little chilly here in Mississippi, so I'd wrap you in fuzzy blankets and serve you something steamy and warm.

First, let me get all my *not so little* children out the door for school. Wait! Julia forgot her glasses, I'll be right back. Just sit here in the silence and listen to the leaves rush to their winter homes below. Those bells chiming in the  background? That's French Camp Baptist saying hello through the brisk, morning air. It's delightful, isn't it? Hum that familiar tune while you wait for me to return, "Nothing but the blood of Jesus!"

I'm back. Glasses delivered. Let me grab my French pressed coffee and we will sit.

I have something urgent to tell you.
Something that could possibly change the course of your day, your month, even your life.

I inch my front porch seat closer and closer to yours.  Now our knees are touching through our fuzzy blankets. I take my little Val Hall-hands and encapsulate them around yours. I squeeze a comforting squeeze and begin to speak over you:

"Sweet Friend,

I see you struggling. Carrying an insane amount of pressure, expectation and weariness on your shoulders. Your eyes are void of life and energy. You haven't slept well in weeks, months, possibly years. Your soul is aching, so unbelievably dry and cracked like a scorched desert. You can only dream that you'll feel alive again some day. Your heart lays in bondage to the sewage of comparison and mom-guilt. You've convinced yourself you're getting it all wrong, and have completely screwed up this mystery called motherhood. You've let lies etch "FAILURE" all over this season.

I've been there. Oh, I have been there.

With a 5 year old, 3 year old, 1 year old and a new born. We moved away from everything we knew, everyone we knew. We were 1,000 miles away from Mark's parents, and 1200 miles away from my parents. A new job, a new town, a new state, a new home, a new community, a new baby, a new church, and an entirely new season of motherhood; mother of 4, 5 and under.

So many days, I was just surviving the ebb and flow of, "Mom. Mama. Mommy. Mom. Mama. Mommy!"

I knew at the conclusion of everyday I needed more of Jesus. Kids have this way of wicking out every good and patient feeling in you, and leaving you raw with wickedness.

My behavior-modification guilt stirred; "You should be getting up before the children to have a quiet time with God." "You should be staying up late after they go to bed to have a quiet time with God." "You aren't praying enough." "You aren't making the kids memorize enough scripture." "Do they even know what justification is?!" "Go Sunday School more!"  "Work with them Mon-Sat on sitting still in the sanctuary!-- They're so disruptive during the service!"  "You are failing them spiritually, Sara!"

Oh the sticky web of guilt I wove. But can I tell you something?
Jesus set me free from that putrid line of thinking!

I tried to set my alarm to get up early. I failed.
I tried to stay up past 8:15pm. I failed.
I played more bible verse cds in the car. Until I lost my sanity, and turned Justin Bieber back on.
We worked on sitting still in church, until we joined the Oasis and the very base line of Sunday mornings was the low hum of small voices chatting and moving about. FREEDOM!

OHMYSTARS raising small babies is EXHAUSTING! I just wanted to sleep. And you know what?! Jesus was ok with that. For years, I would place everyone in their rooms for nap time and I would feel the Holy Spirit invite me to my own spiritual nap time. I'd crawl up into my bed and visualize that I was crawling into the lap of my God. I would cry, "HELP ME! Know my heart!" and He would whisper, "Rest! I'll fill you up, I will help you and I know your heart, sweet daughter!"

Please don't convolute what I'm saying. I'm all about some alone time with Jesus! In His word, quietly in prayer and worship. But there is SO.MUCH.FREEDOM within those walls. Freedom we rarely extend to mamas with small children. I remember MANY Beth Moore studies in my kitchen, answering questions with a baby on my hip and one hanging on my ankle. I remember saying many prayers in motion. Many pleas for assistance not scheduled into "quiet times."

Seriously, who has a "sweet hour of prayer" with 4 kids under 5?!

Ok, so maybe you do. But I didn't.

And God was NOT disappointed in me. He wasn't freaked out because I didn't wake up with the sun like the Psalmists. I drooled on my pillow until a little person insisted I get up. I'd pray to Him in the dead of night, while the house was utterly still and I nursed a new born baby.  I knew of His kindness to me all throughout the trenches. He routinely revealed Himself to me as the God who meets us where we are.  And where I was, was in the muck of raising tiny human beings to be somewhat functional. And there is NO muck like child rearing muck.

I knew this from my head down deep into my toes. It sustained me during really dark seasons.
This last year, a friend of mine showed me a verse that actually, totally and completely supports what I knew ALL ALONG!

Isaiah 40:11
He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs into his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
HE GENTLY LEADS THOSE THAT HAVE YOUNG!

other translations:
He gently leads the nursing ewes.
He gently leads those that are with young.

Are you catching this?
Do you see how the Lord deals with the mamas of the young?
Do you see it?
Can you receive it?
Can you believe it?

Mamas of Small Children,
He deals with you GENTLY! He knows your portion. He acknowledges the weight you're carrying. He sees with tender eyes your exhaustion. He knows you're depleted and worn. And you know what? He deals with you GENTLY! Maybe that's how you should begin to deal with yourself also; GENTLY!

Maybe that gentleness will give way to rest. And that rest will bring you a flash of hope, and that flash of hope will rain an ounce of life onto your desert heart. Because we all need some rain, don't we?"

I can see you need a refill.
Those tears streaming down your face? Let them roll.
You're safe here on my front porch.
I'll go grab us some Kleenex and a refill.
I'll be right back....

~Sara

motherhood, raising children