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“For this moment, it’s just you and me. No one else in the world even knows that you exist like I do. It is quiet now and maybe, just for now, that is the way it is supposed to be.”
I knew two things in these intimate moments of honoring the existence of my daughter. The first one was her name. I knew that her name was going to be Ruth. And this is where the elation set in. My insides were dancing in ways I had never known before as I imagined Ruth shaping and loving and experiencing this world. And the second thing I knew was that everything was going to change. And this is where the dread came. The dread moved in and took up space in my throat because I knew that having a daughter would require change. I had served the previous decade in an evangelical church who held to a strictly complementarian theology. I had struggled, over the years, to find my place in it. I even obtained a Masters of Divinity, believing that somehow this would earn me a place at the table of input and influence. I believed wholeheartedly that if I were faithful enough, good enough, smart enough, talented enough, that the theology, (and therefore the practice), of the church would change. I believed they would adapt to a world where women run companies, host talk shows, and run for president. I was hopeful that eventually they would invite me to walk into the fullness of my gifts and affirm me as an equal partner in ministry. I had earned it, after all. Or so I thought.
Stories - Mine - Way - Theology - Change
Like many stories, mine did not end up that way. The theology didn’t change. But I did.
As I sat on the bench, with the picture of...
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