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An Age of Fearless Women

On January 25, 2016

I live in an age of fearless women. I live among the fire-starters, earth-shakers, and pot-stirrers. I live among women who cannot be bought, shifted, or erased. They are powerfully present, steady on their feet, and certain of their worth.

I live in an age of fearless women.

It’s a story as old as time, and we’re still telling it. We’re revisiting the book of fearless womanhood, picking up the scent of sage and fire still clinging to worn pages. And we’re stitching in our own pages too. They’re crisp and white and covered in elegant script. But they’re also full of scribbles, addendums, and messy cross-outs.

Because we’re still learning how to be fearless women. Our script is flawed, and our shaking fingers are hopelessly spotted with ink. We’re still unsure. So we flip back the pages in our book of fearless womanhood. And slowly, painfully, even reluctantly, we shed the weight in our hearts.

Across time and space, these fearless Bible women are whispering courage into our hesitant hearts.

We’re speaking truth to power with Esther. We’re directing our battles in the spirit of Deborah. We’re sitting at Jesus’ feet with Mary. We’re crossing social boundaries like the Samaritan woman. We’re stepping into unmapped territory alongside Priscilla.

I am thankful for the seasoned veterans of Scripture, for an age of fearless women that stretches from the beginning of time to this moment.

I live among women who cannot be bought, shifted, or erased. They are powerfully present, steady on their feet, and certain of their worth.

And then there are our fearless co-authors, the women we march beside today. Their courage is spiritual. It is not of this world.

They’re teaching us about fearlessness as they live it.

Their strength reminds me that some of the greatest victories are in the everyday. There is victory in the little ways that we break and hurt. Because we choose to move forward. Because we never stand down.

These fearless women are redefining power. They’re loving on a world that judges them inferior. They’re serving a church that rejects them. They’re walking in mercy when they are afforded none. They’re living out justice that they’ve never known themselves.

And these women are teaching us, in big and small ways, how to move forward. How to love well. How to ask for what we need. How to fight. How to heal. How to live with grace. How to do self-care. How to demand justice. How to stand firm. How to laugh. How to listen closely.

I’m learning to be fearless from the women who give me late nights, long conversations, and gentle nudges.

I learned from my mom that laughter can be spiritual. It’s balm on an aching wound, ice on a torn muscle. It’s water in the desert of a deeply broken world.

I didn’t learn about laughter in a classroom or a board room. I learned about laughter on warm summer nights in a patio chair. I learned about laughter from my mom over glasses of wine and countless sunsets. When we talked and laughed until it was so dark we couldn’t see each other, I learned that laughter can heal a broken heart.

And I learned that a woman who laughs even in the midst of injustice is a fearless woman.

Fearless women don’t stand down. With trembling fists, fearless women knock down unholy walls. 

I learned from my female college professors that intelligent women subvert power. I learned that educated women are dangerous women. They are women who understand their own oppression. They are women who are equipped to overthrow it.

Intelligent women step out. They shatter glass. They say no. They demand answers. They don’t settle. They fight.

From these women, I learned to think fearlessly. They taught me to wage war in my own mind, against every voice that whispers that I’m not good enough, that I won’t win this fight.

And I learned that fearless women bring their minds to the battlefield.

I learned from my friends about unbreakable communion. Over coffee and blueberry muffins, I took communion with my sisters. I learned, finally, not to fight alone.

We counted each other’s tears and held each other’s hands. We grieved the oppression of women. We fought our battles as one. We learned to ask for what we needed. And we became more ourselves because we could lean on each other.

Our holy rage over the oppression of women melded us together. We became stronger for it.  

And I learned that fearless women don’t live in isolation. Fearless women go to battle for each other.

I live in an age of fearless women. I live among the fire-starters, earth-shakers, and pot-stirrers. I live among women who cannot be bought, shifted, or erased. They are powerfully present, steady on their feet, and certain of their worth.

Fearless women don’t stand down. With trembling fists, fearless women knock down unholy walls.


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