Who was this eager emissary? The prophet Isaiah. His story is told in Isaiah 6.

He had just seen the glory of the Lord, fallen on his face bemoaning his unclean lips—and had those same lips seared by an angel with a hot coal! So when God (Father, Son and Spirit) remarked, “Who will go for us? Whom shall we send?” Isaiah was the first to volunteer.

I might not have been so quick to respond. I’m sure I would have had a few questions:

"…a woman proclaiming God’s Word with hands that smell like marinated artichokes can hit the heart of another woman in a way men cannot…women have stories to tell about life and God, just as our male partners on the journey do. The chance to preach from their perspectives is honoring God’s call to the community of Christ."

Though I am not committed to Tracey’s ultimate conclusions in terms of how this plays out in the pulpit, her position is clearly grounded in an authentic love for the community of believers and for God. And I embrace her core argument that there is tremendous value for men learning more about how women experience the Christian life. In further agreement, we as women teachers can reach women in ways men simply cannot—because of our shared experiences.
To what degree are women in your church equipped, encouraged, and positioned to proclaim God’s Word to one another?

“omg my prof is telling us bout why Christians are judgmentl and there are many paths to God should I say something?? pls pray for me to b bold”

This is a text message I received from one of my favorite people: a bright-eyed, skinny-jean-wearing college senior named Jes. I think of her as my babysitter. I recently learned through a friend that she thinks of me as her “number one mentor.”

This is modern mentorship?

Of course, other, more important thoughts about preaching God’s Word also ran through my jittery little mind. Thoughts that reminded me this was really God’s sermon, not my opportunity to ramble. That the Spirit of God would use any effort, even a disjointed one, to work in people’s hearts. That less of me and more of God was all that anyone needed anyway.

And as I lived into all of these realities, I found myself in a fairly calm rhythm the night before my sermon. But what I slammed into that next morning, was the odd world that many women in ministry inhabit on a regular basis.

Last month, I participated in a panel discussion at a local church on the topic of female sexuality in which over 800 women participated, either by attending the sessions in person or by logging in online. The number of attendees, along with the quantity and quality of their questions about biblical sexuality, made one thing clear: as Christian leaders, especially female Christian leaders, we need to talk more about sex and we need to talk about it more deeply.

So, anyway, yesterday as I quizzed the sales guy on exactly why the Mac would transform my life as I know it, I leaned in to hear his wisdom above the buzz of the crowds. After pointing out various features and “cool stuff,” the poor guy just said the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time: “The learning curve can be pretty steep for those coming from PC to Macs….”

Ach. My body tensed. My heart raced. The sales guy lost his sale. While normally I am big on learning and while normally I would not fear the week or two “transition” it would take for me to get used to a new operating system (and frankly, while normally I would doubt it would take me that long), I could not deal with another learning curve. Not this year.

But as a follower of Christ I also know that I am called to love my neighbor as Jesus did—by proclaiming good news to the poor, freedom for prisoners, sight for the blind, and to set the oppressed free (as mentioned in Luke 4). Seeking justice for others in these ways is at the heart of what it means to follow Christ. It’s not just a call for some Christians; it’s for all of us – including us busy leaders.

But it can be hard to figure out how I can be seeking justice for others in the midst of my chaotic life.

Here’s an excerpt from Suzanne Woods Fisher’s Amish Peace:

The reason behind my ability to be distracted is far less honorable. I’ll attribute it to a plain ol’ lack of self-discipline. Supposed to be working? Well, I’ll just check my email real quick. Trying to read while the T.V. or radio is on? Can’t do it. Tidying up the house? My husband calls my approach the “Zen method” of housecleaning, meaning that there is no easily discernible pattern to it. I pick up something in one room and take it to another room to put it away. While in that room I find something else that needs to be tidied or cleaned. Then I stroll to another room to get some cleaning supplies, and there I’m distracted from my task by something that needs to be picked up in that room. I don’t attack one room at a time. Rather, after a while, the whole house is straightened. My approach is shaped by the distractions I find hard to resist.

I walked a labyrinth for the first time a few years ago at a conference for Christian leaders. That particular labyrinth included stations with tactile activities to foster reflection. On the table of one station I found a map with a compass on it. Also on the map were some small magnets. I was to move the magnets around the compass and watch how they pulled the needle from “true north” to “false north.” The question for meditation was, “What distractions in your life are pulling you away from God, the true north?” It was a transformative question for me. My answers were not tasks but attitudes.

By definition, of course, godly, unconditional love doesn’t require love in return. I know that. God loved me first—long before I loved Him, when I was definitely living in my sins. And even after I responded to that love and accepted his gift of salvation, I haven’t always loved him well—you know, by obeying Him. But he has never quit loving me.

Parents learn this early. Even before a baby is born, they love her. And the moment they see her, they are head over heels in love. It’s a good thing. Because that baby demands everything and gives no love in return for the longest time. Fortunately they grow up and learn to love. Unfortunately, when they become teens, sometimes they break our hearts with words like, “Leave me alone! I hate you!”

Our son has been God’s gift to me to help me begin to comprehend what it means to love someone unconditionally. He came to our family just before he turned 10, from a very difficult early childhood.

Five years later I’m noticing that keeping a blog is becoming a kind of authenticator – implying that a person’s thoughtful, that she has something to say. A little tagline closing a short bio that directs people to more.

I was a late adaptor to the blogging world; I didn’t get it at first. It all seemed so forced and self-important—like a reality TV show in online journal format. But eventually I began wading into the blogosphere—first creating a private blog for family when we moved cross-country; then a public blog on parenting preschoolers when this venture began occupying most of my life and brain space. I started reading others’ blogs more regularly and was inspired, enlightened, challenged, encouraged.

Blogging seems particularly well-suited to a person with leadership gifts. A leader is by definition someone who influences others, and blogging is an ideal vehicle to communicate ideas and extend influence. So it makes sense that many who are natural leaders also blog – their doing so can benefit countless others.

The challenge, though, is in the tool itself--a method of organizing thoughts for others’ consideration.

Just us girls. The living room could hardly contain the beauty, joy, and potential of those women in the making. I marveled at being invited to witness such life.

I love being part of a generation that esteems women like never before and passes that on to these girls. Women have reached new heights of success in every arena. The world is a better place because of our achievement and innovation. Yet often our complex nature and this broken world crash together like the girls falling out of their handstands. We are all head bumps and soul bruises.

I wonder what will become of those free-spirited females as their lives expand beyond the cul-de-sac and elementary school, when the world’s messages threaten their joy. My night with the girls gave me reason to pause and think about what voices they’ll hear as they become women:

My husband laughed at the offense and ridiculousness (“Maybe he doesn’t realize a guy named Barack Obama sits in the Oval Office,” Raf said) as he told me this, but the blood drained from my face. My hands burned as I clutched them together.

In the years of being married to a Latino—who certainly has run into racist jabs and slurs—I don’t think I’d ever been so angry at something someone said, at least regarding race. Because this tapped into the deepest roots of hatred, racism and ignorance. Into the part that said if he wanted to succeed, he had to make others more comfortable with who he was—by becoming someone else. That to succeed on a particular path, he had to change something central to who he was—and more importantly, who God made him to be. And that gets me. Big time.

These words , part of a lament of a bride going to meet her husband for the first time, summed up the experience of women in China in the 1800’s, according to Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. In this book Lisa See brings to light the reality of life for a female in that society: No value, no rights, raised for a husband’s family, enduring the years of footbinding torture and subsequent crippling, totally dependent on the desires of her parents/brothers/husband/mother-in-law. She had no purpose—except to bear a son—and no hope.

These words, sadly, have been echoed across countless generations and cultures. In many places a woman has a place in life only if she becomes the mother of a son. In some African nations female genital cutting is still practiced, creating unimagined agony for preteen girls and sentencing them to a lifetime of pain. In Southeast Asia and many other places children are sold—often by their poverty-stricken parents—as sex slaves.

In Half the Sky, Pulitzer Prize winning authors Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn horrify us with statistics like this: