I fell into the canyon a couple of days ago. This is the canyon I’ve been trying to talk about, between the conservative and progressive. I hang out in the canyon all the time, mostly on purpose. And isn’t that brave of me? But sometimes I fall in by accident, just by forgetting that it’s there. And that’s how I end up sobbing in a church parking lot.
Wouldn’t it be great if the hard things would be just done already? I mean, wouldn’t it be great if the hard things weren’t so hard?
Our offer on the property in Robie Creek has been accepted. The event that I will settle on an undeveloped piece of land outside of Boise is no longer just a possibility. It’s a likelihood. And the devil I’m harboring is no longer a little bit of nervousness. This is real fear.
I’m afraid of being forever a blue girl disappeared in a big red state, a feminist lost in conservative Christianity. I’m afraid of living the rest of my life across the canyon.
I had asked myself that morning, as I do most Sunday mornings, what on earth I’m doing going to a church that is so much more conservative than I am. I do have reasons. I go out of solidarity and respect for the People of God who invited me. I go out of faith, trusting that Christ transcends our differences. That’s what Christ is for. And I go out of yearning, because I want to see the broken things come back together,
On this particular morning, though, I went for exactly none of those reasons. Sadie is four-and-a-half weeks old, and my three year old is a hot mess – you try telling your three year old that you’re moving into a tent on a mountainside – and I had gotten very little sleep. I was wearing the same clothes I wore the day before. I went to church that day because I needed to go to church. I need church. I need worship. This was the only church in Boise where I could go where I would know anyone.
The sermon was basically about evangelism. I drifted in and out, standing on my feet in the back of the room, holding Sadie. But I did tune in for the part about the bees. I’d like to keep bees. I heard the pastor tell us that different swarms of bees have different smells. And when one swarm smells another swarm, they recognize each other as enemies and they attack. This always happens, unless the foreign bee is covered with pollen, in which case its personal smell is disguised by the smell of the pollen, and they don’t fight.
Even bees become one in the pollen.
This, of course, is an allegory for Christ. Whatever. I like allegories and I like Christ. I bought it. It doesn’t matter that I come from another swarm, as long as I’m covered with pollen. Nobody is going to attack.
So then, fast forward through the service. Now I’m watching a baptism, and getting my Jesus on, and basically in all ways being vulnerable. I’m sitting down now in the back row, nursing Sadie, when the pastor’s wife sits down next to me, and puts her arm around me, and asks me to cover.
I forgot about the canyon.
Of course the first thing I feel is sorry. I’m sorry that I showed too much of my body. I’m sorry that I might have offended somebody. And I’m not thinking of the three square inches of breast so much as I’m thinking of my waistline, and the muffin top that I’m sporting over jeans I probably shouldn’t be wearing because I’m thirty-three and this is my third baby and I shouldn’t be showing so much of myself. I should be hidden.
And I look around the room and I’m looking for anybody who will understand, anybody who knows that woman-shame travels like this, not from the pulpit, but when the pastor’s wife sits down next to you and puts her arm around you and asks you to please live your life just a little bit differently.
And I’m thinking of a decade I spent trying to make myself not a woman, so that I could get into the inner circle, where I thought God would be, how I shaved my head and tried to get rid of all the curves by not eating or by throwing up.
And also the fifteen years I spent trying not to be a Christian, because it was in secular feminism that I found an antidote to the shame I had learned as a child, where I found all the women who know that it isn’t fair to tell the woman to cover when you could just as easily tell the man to look away, or for God’s sake just grow up and learn to deal.
I wanted to shout, and rage, about the shaming of the feminine, and how the church is starved for the feminine face of God, because God is in this, too. God is in the breastfeeding in this season of the life of a woman, where we see the sacred leaking out into a smirking baby’s face…and no wonder men find it hard to look away.
But I didn’t do any raging, because I wasn’t in any shape for it. I just went out into the parking lot and cried. And the next day, filtering through a couple of voices, I heard that someone had seen me crying, and called to offer an apology.
///
This isn’t a post about how breastfeeding should be allowed in church, although you know I think it should. This is a post about the moment that you look around the room and every single face you see is on the other side of that canyon, and you’ve got to try to reach each other anyway.
This is about how I have decided to live here, in this place, where this is going to happen to me all the time.Isn’t this just the sort of funny story God likes to write? You take a secular feminist, and you make her fall in love with Jesus, and then you drop her in a conservative church in Boise, Idaho…and see what happens.
This is the place where we are sandpaper to one another, teachers. We grind against each other, and hopefully smooth out some edges. A conservative evangelical church gets to think about what it really means to be Grace to a stranger. And I get to think about what it really means to stand for the feminine face of God.
It isn’t as pretty or as pat as anybody told me. It’s a deeper, more gorgeous, more aching truth, this canyon. But I am still here. And even here I see God revealed — refracted, bent, and shattered — shining out the cracks of crooked people.
Oh Esther… I am honestly almost in tears for you. If I was at home, I’d be letting them come. Instead, I’m at work, and have goosebumps.
I am sorry that you had to experience that, even if you like that canyon. I do not like it. One bit.
That’s just me, though. I wish that we, as a body of Christ, would be more open to the sacred feminine.
Love, Noelle
I completely agree that we as the body of Christ, should be more open to the sacred feminine, and I think we’re headed there. It’s a vanguard position, depending on where you are. In this story, it is literally cutting edge. (Ouch.) That’s what I like about being in the canyon. You can see change actually happening, albeit slowly.
Thank you. We men need to hear the stories of the women around us. There is much we need to learn, and much that women have to teach us.
I just read this post aloud to Jason and we both were so moved by it. The analogy of the canyon is so moving and the idea so terrifying and compelling. Thank you for having the courage and the stamina to continue being part of the sandpaper.
Thanks, Liz.
Esther. I have just read this and past posts. And I am finding it unbearable that you live so far away. It’s very different from other long distance relationships over my lifetime in which I could maintain a certain level of understandably-restricted relationship via letters and phone calls. There was always grief and loss in parting, but then a path of healing (that’s sometimes based on forgetting) and new, different kind of relationship with those far away. With this internet, and your expressiveness that allows these major inner experiences to be shared AFTER we part, and at the same time as a whole group is sharing them – I realize I am in new waters. In my experience – [and I know I’m cave woman because I have never been a blogger] — such things have for me always been meant to be shared one-on-one, in physical relationship that includes hugs and eye contact and personal interaction… and so I am stuck with this difficult reality that the sharing I would get from you in person, that felt so… I don’t know — deeply real — is still there, like an enticement to connect – and yet not at all personal. And the truth is I will never live near you again in person, so I will never be able to process things in person…. and I need to accept some way that I have been possessive of people. I am sorry if my self-pity and absorption is depressing – I don’t mean it to be, but it is both a testament to the power of your ability to say moving things that matter to me, and the realization that I really miss you. And that I, unlike you, am NOT a writer. I am a talker. And I’m wondering how this will evolve – with you, and with others in my life. Just today another good friend who I share my soul with told me she will probably be moving to Spain in June… so I guess I better figure something out. I send you a virtual hug, knowing that you do receive that, however differently from a real one!
Oh, yes. I went off the Internet three years ago because of this. And now I’m blogging again, and it didn’t go away. You’re motivating me to do my book revisions, because it’s that story that addresses this. In the meantime, we just have to talk to each other, too.
xo
Esther
GREAT post- you have an awesome voice- and this is so powerful- how humiliating to have to go through this. I wrote a Living cover story for The Oregonian on breast feeding in public -people need to get over it, esp. the church. Wow-blessings to you and thanks for finding me on twitter. stay connected-cornelia becker seigneur- writermom
Remember the strong, beautiful breastfeeding in the church of Dulce Nombre, and be proud that God has given us bodies for working and nourishing =) You are beautiful inside & out, Esther! (And there is no way you have a muffin top, girlfriend…)
*breastfeeding women
Yes! gratitude for Dulce Nombre and the reminder of our connection there! I do too have a muffin top. You just wait until you’ve had a couple of babies. You’ll see. 🙂
I haven’t needed to have children to have that wonderful discovery lol. Keep up the excellent writing, you brighten and inspire my days!
I found your link at Imperfect Prose & I love this post. ( I cried too! ) I’m so GLAD that you see God in this & that you know you belong in the canyon! They need you as much as you need them! I know some day you will look on people from both sides of that canyon & you will just simply be AMAZED! because of the love that Jesus gives you for all of them. I look forward to reading about your move to the country! Love & prayers, (from Wyoming) in Jesus, Cynthia
well, i don`t know that i haven`t read something quite this powerful in a long time. not since reading anne lamott, anyway, and that`s saying a lot because i love anne. you are now officially on my blogroll, esther. this is powerful writing. i resonate deeply with everything you said. and i just want to shake that pastor`s wife. and give you a giant hug and say, you go ahead and nurse that baby, friend. God isn`t afraid of a little bit of naked. that`s how he made us.
Emily, I’m stunned by this. I’ve been a fan of yours. Just…so grateful.
Love this post and love Emily’s response. I know it’s so much bigger than this, but please keep feeding your sweet baby whenever and wherever she needs to be fed.
Thanks, Dana. Emily is wise, isn’t she?
oh, holy, holy, holy. this yearning in the caynon. this feeding from our very core. you are beautiful, your words are beautiful, your giving of life and of holding on to hope is beautiful. thank you for sharing this with us!
Tara, so much gratitude for your being here with me! Fellowship is food for a hungry soul!
Are you in Boise Idaho? I have a niece there who you could possibly meet up with? she has little girls too. send me a note if you near by. I will forward it to her.
Oh, what an experience! I feel for you. I immediately thought of the image going around on fb. It’s of this crazy breast feeding cover, that makes you look like you have 2 gynormous breasts and says something about discretion and clown breasts, lol. & ugh, totally feel for you. Stand firm, nurse where ever you like! & next time smile and say God is here and has so much Mother love for us and He doesn’t mind!
What a benediction that would be, if I could conjure that response! God’s mother love is there, isn’t it, waiting for us to recognize it?
[…] wanted to go back to the other church. My husband said, “You can go there, if you want.” By which he meant, “You can go there, […]
Hello there,
I came to your blog through a friend.
I just want to express solidarity with you.
I’ve also experienced the canyon, but in a different way. I live in NYC, where one is widely considered a lunatic for following or believing in Jesus. Yet I find myself in church. And there I sometimes feel like I’m regarded a lunatic for being involved in Occupy Wall Street or growing dread locks or being vegetarian or calling God “she” or any other thing that I do/say/believe.
‘Tis an interesting place and time indeed to call oneself “Christian”!
Thanks for your writing 🙂
Gio
Yes, I came to my Idaho canyon from Boston and have family in NYC. I know the East Coast urban vibe well.If you’re a lunatic, then I want to be one, too, so keep it up!
[…] do a little How and Why. (I’ve got one for tomorrow.) Thursdays will be for writing about The Canyon, and other squishy spiritual stuff. And, finally, on Saturdays, I will sometimes link up with my […]
I love how you make me think. It’s taken me 4 babies (& 46 months & counting) to get to the point where I’ll nurse in the corner of a restaurant table w/o a cover. I’m pretty sure this makes my husband uncomfortable, but he’s come a long way, too. When I nursed my 2nd baby (our 1st, together), he was completely wild-eyed. He was convinced that every man w/in shouting distance was trying to look at my boob. He was the cover police.
I’ll be honest: I still use a cover if a man other than my husband is sitting in close proximity and facing me. And I wouldn’t nurse in the sanctuary, even WITH a cover, b/c I sense that those around me would be extremely uncomfortable. Not that I think you were/are wrong. Just that I was raised up in the Baptist church, & I know the deal. It’s easier to be a people-pleaser, sometimes, I guess.
I want to say one other thing which is that–having been a conservative my whole life–I feel like, at least in some respects, the further I travel, the more progressive I become. You may change, hanging out w/ these church people, but so will they. It will be a little like throwing you in a bag w/ that preacher’s wife and shaking it really hard to see what-who comes out. Might be interesting.
Yup, I think that’s exactly what happens. We all change, and the conservative and progressive titles become less relevant, maybe.
I came here via Brandee at smoothstones, and I am captivated by your story and the image of a canyon. I have five children, breastfed them all and will go to my grave knowing that one of the most beautiful, empowering meaningful things I ever did with my body was to feed my children. I always covered, out of a sense of modesty,I think; but they nursed in church ALL the time, as I was in a traditional, conservative, fundamentalist church ALL the time (married to the youth pastor) (and no longer married to the youth pastor, but a pastor myself now) (which is another story)…
My heart connects with this as a mother, who would stand by you – covered or not – as your body served one of its most basic purposes. My heart connects with the image of the canyon we create all too often, and compels me to look across it for the ones who are crooked and bent, to offer love, to “be Grace to a stranger”. I will carry your words with me into church on Sunday. Thank you.
Sounds like you have an interesting story, Beth… It is interesting how this post has drawn out lots of connection, it must be that we do feel those distances keenly, and that’s the thing we all have in common, regardless of what kind of church we’re in right now or ever.
They should attend a service in Ghana, West Africa! LOL! I wonder if breasts are only sexualized in western culture and everywhere else they’re purely functional?
Definitely it’s a cultural difference, isn’t it? Thanks for your perspective!
It is cultural. I spent 10 years living and working in Africa, where no one would have given Esther a second look!!
Esther, I FELT like I was sitting there in the Boise church, identifying with everything you shared. You’re a talented writer, for sure, but it’s more than words can say, how I felt in reading your story. I felt VALIDATED, like you were speaking up for me… like you were speaking my own thoughts. This comment box is just to left of your “about a yurt” and can I tell you that I’ve always desired to live in a yurt, well, not always, but for many years… and I’ve been studying how to be a modern homesteader! Thank you for speaking into my heart, for my heart, and to my hear today! I look forward to hearing more 🙂
Oh Esther…I wanted to go cry in that car with you, to put my arm around that pastor’s wife and lead her away. I wish I was as brave as you, to breastfeed in public uncovered. I’m getting there…but oh the fear of facing the very experience you did! I’m So sorry you were met with that…and grateful for the beautiful word you mined from it.
I’m standing on my chair and applauding.
You made me feel it – I was there, I was you. My stomach lurched when the pastor’s wife put her arm around you, a Judas-touch. This is amazing writing.
And I so know what you mean about the canyon. I am a bridge-builder – someone said it to me recently and it stuck, so I think it might have been prophetic. But in building bridges you have to streeeeetch so much of yourself for others to walk over. And sometimes that hurts. Could you be a bridge-builder too?
[…] What, because I really want to talk marriage equality with some rural male pastor? Because I want to sit in a church like that and hear about the End Days? Because I think it’s fun to make myself cry in a parking lot? […]
Esther, I am so sorry…. Although I never had the opportunity to breast feed, ten years living and working in Africa taught me that breast feeding is the best thing you can do anywhere anytime, for you and your child. It’s perfectly normal and anyone who tries to suggest otherwise just needs to be educated….
[…] happened again, like it sometimes does. I was trying to navigate this canyon, and I fell […]
[…] gone and we’ve come back, and there’s another girl in another parking lot — a church parking lot, this time, in Idaho — and that day I was holding a three-week-old and sobbing for the loss. […]
[…] I live in the canyon – and I do – the canyon has never been so wide. Which means for me: lonely. So yeah, I might have been […]
This is beautiful. Thank you for writing something I can relate to. I look forward to reading more of your honest, raw and feminine posts. Happy “late” Mother’s Day btw 🙂
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