by Heather Plett | Nov 26, 2010 | Birthing Sophia, Intuition, Sophia, Spirituality
Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; you teach me wisdom in the inmost place. – Psalm 51:6
I wish I could tell you that I am always, 100% sure that this new path I’m traveling on – the path that lead me to Sophia Leadership – is the right path and I am meant to be doing this work and everything is going to be alright.
It’s just not the case. There are days when the internal critics are throwing parties in my head. Days when I think I would be better off getting a “real” job. Days when I try to convince myself that I should just focus on promoting the skills I’ve proven in the workplace (communications) and make a living off that. Days when I think this stuff is just a little too “out there” and nobody’s going to get it (or at least not anyone who’s going to pay the bills).
I’m trying to be kind to those critics, give them an opportunity to speak what they feel they must, and then gently but firmly insist that they take up residence in some place other than my brain. Here’s a few of the conversations I’ve been having lately.
Internal critic #1: “You shouldn’t be doing this. People who know you are going to think you’ve gone off the deep end, rejected your Christianity and taken a dive into some woo-woo cult of the feminine divine. You don’t want to embarrass yourself that way, do you? Why not just stick to comfortable old paradigms that don’t make you look too wacko?”
Me: “Dear critic, I know you mean well and you just want to help me save face. Thanks for caring. But the truth is that the old paradigms just never fit very well, and I can’t live authentically if I don’t question them. No, I haven’t rejected Christianity – just take a closer look in the Bible and you’ll find Sophia all over the book of Proverbs (she’s been ignored by the church for way too long). What I HAVE rejected is the version of Christianity that just sees one narrow door to an exclusive, close-minded male God. Please pack your baggage and leave, because no matter how hard you try, I’m not going back to that set of beliefs.”
Internal critic #2: “What you’re doing just isn’t going to make sense to people. Think about the times you’ve tried to explain it to people, and they just kind of looked at you funny and said (with a look that clearly expressed their concern that you’ve gone off your rocker), ‘That’s nice. But HOW are you going to make a living with this?’ If those people don’t get it, NOBODY’S going to get it!”
Me: “Friendly critic, I appreciate what you’re saying and I believe there may be some wisdom in it. Perhaps I need to think about better ways to explain it to people who haven’t immersed themselves in these ideas like I have recently. BUT that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up, because there are LOTS of people who are getting it – LOTS of people who are sending me such lovely notes about how this has touched a deep longing in their hearts. Even if those people end up being in the minority, they make it worth the effort. I’ll keep doing this for them.”
Internal critic #3: “Look at the success you’re having teaching the PR course. That’s the stuff you actually know – writing press releases and stories, and planning PR events, etc., etc. You really should stick to that, because you actually have enough experience in that to call yourself an ‘expert’. (What about that “communicator of the year” award last year? Huh? Have you forgotten about THAT?!) What right do you have to pretend you know anything about feminine wisdom? You probably need a degree or something like that.”
Me: “Oh critic, you’re right – I’m far from an expert. But don’t you understand that when I read, write, learn, talk, and teach about this stuff, my heart comes ALIVE in a way that it never does when I’m writing a press release? Don’t you see that this is a deep calling that won’t let me rest until I follow it further into the wilderness of my heart?”
The truth is, wisdom (God’s wisdom – “Sophia”) comes through many sources. Sometimes the critics – whether they are internal or external – are worth heeding because of how they can help us avoid pitfalls or enhance our newly-birthed ideas.
But far, FAR too many times, we give the critics too much power by allowing them to silence the wisdom that is whispered to us in quieter, less obvious ways.
It’s the wisdom that shows up in our hearts when we are quiet enough to pay attention.
The wisdom that comes when we sit on our meditation cushions and open ourselves up to Sophia/God.
The wisdom that appears when we sit and stare at an oak tree or a blade of grass.
The wisdom that emerges from our bodies when we run, do yoga, dance, walk, stretch, or just sit and pay attention.
The wisdom that we find when we look deep into the eyes of a horse.
It’s that kind of wisdom that I’m trying to listen to these days. It (rather than the self-limiting beliefs of my internal critics) will help me shape whatever Sophia Leadership is meant to be.
I know this – Sophia has shown me so many incredible signs in the last year that this is the path that I’m meant to journey on. One of those signs came yesterday when I met someone who’s been on a remarkably similar journey in the last year and who lives only half an hour from my house. Though we hadn’t met before, we have been living nearly parallel lives (including having worked in the exact same job a few years apart!), and it is so very clear that we were meant to meet now (and not all those other times we could have met when we crossed paths) and meant to further this work together, that neither of us can ignore the signs. (More on that incredible synchronicity in posts to come.)
Each and every day, we have to choose which wisdom we’re going to trust. Trusting the more intuitive, spiritual, “God-breathed” wisdom often feels like “the road less traveled”, but it is that wisdom that will help us change the world. The beautiful thing is, this quiet wisdom actually come from a Source that is much bigger than any of our critics.
by Heather Plett | Nov 22, 2010 | Sophia, Spirituality
I am not a goddess. And I don’t have super-powers.
I am ordinary, flawed, and often rather boring. My laundry room is in a perpetual state of disaster, I often take the easy route and feed my kids processed food, I don’t floss regularly, and I haven’t thrown a dinner party in a few years because it takes too much work. Sometimes I even pick my nose.
But you didn’t come here to read a list of my flaws, did you? Especially not the nose-picking thing.
Sometimes the language I read around blogs and self-help books targeted toward women worries me. We’re supposed to claim our superhero alter-ego, step into our power, and become goddesses. Now, if you’ve used that language, please forgive me – I’ve done the same on occasion. I understand the point of it – we want women to feel special and empowered and endowed with the Sacred. There’s nothing wrong with those things.
BUT… the problem is, if I have to have a superpower or be a goddess, then it starts to feel like I’m putting way too much pressure on myself to be invincible. I don’t want to be invincible. I want to be okay with being flawed. I want to be able to forgive myself for sending my daughter to school in dirty pants because I didn’t get the laundry done (again). I want to be ENOUGH.
The other thing is, in those moments when I’m feeling weak and flawed and at the end of my capacity to cope, I want to be able to reach for some kind of source of power that is external to me. I don’t want to BE a goddess, I want to SURRENDER to a Goddess and have Her carry me.
If being a goddess is up to me, then where do I go to be refilled when my tank is empty?
You can call religion a cop-out or a panacea – that’s up to you. But I still need it in my life. I still need there to be a God/dess, I still want to know I’m cared for by a Creator who thinks I’m special and beautiful, I want to be extended grace and forgiveness by a compassionate Being outside myself, and I want to know there is Sacred power that has absolutely nothing to do with my capacity.
It doesn’t matter to me what you call that Higher Power, but for me, I’m becoming more and more comfortable with the concept of Sophia – the feminine nature of God. (A concept, by the way, that originates in the Old Testament.) When I feel weak, I call on Sophia for wisdom and grace. I picture Her as a beautiful, full-bossomed, long-haired wise and fierce grandmother type. I curl up in her arms, and her long flowing hair hangs around me like a curtain, sheltering and protecting me from harm.
This is the image I turn to most these days, but I am also still quite comfortable with God as father-figure – the kind of Father who is the embodiment of the strong and compassionate masculine nature I mentioned in my last post.
Having a God/dess in my life helps me take myself off the hook when I just can’t seem to get things right. S/he thinks I’m good enough.
Note: This is part of a blog round robin called Support Stories – Strength from Within. Click the link to find other stories of finding strength.
by Heather Plett | Nov 19, 2010 | Uncategorized
I know that several of my readers work or have worked in the education field and/or have raised teenagers, so I’d like to ask your advice…
My daughter Julie has always been academically advanced. She started doing fractions in kindergarten and had read all of the Harry Potter books before she turned 9. You get the picture.
She’s in grade 8 now and is completely bored with school. To the point of tears. To the point where her lack of motivation for school is spilling into other areas of her life. To the point where I’m starting to worry about depression.
Throughout her education, we’ve often asked the teachers for advice about what we/they can do for her and whether there are advanced programs available for her. We’ve never really gotten any concrete advice or any programs offered. (We have another meeting with her teachers tonight.)
I’m worried. She is capable of so much, and yet she’s stuck in an education system that isn’t challenging her. (She rants about how the students who have trouble in school get extra attention and extra resources, and the advanced students just get told to read a book when they’re done their work.) And I feel like we haven’t done enough for her either.
Any advice? I know that private school might be an option (Michele, I’m sure you’ll say U of W), but financially that just doesn’t seem viable for us right now. The area that she is particularly bored with is math – she could have done grade 8 work in grade 5.
by Heather Plett | Nov 18, 2010 | Compassion
After writing my last post, visiting several of the other blog posts written for the Girl Effect Blogging Campaign, and watching some of the Girl Effect videos, I am left with a thought that keeps niggling at me…
We desperately need more MEN to help with the Girl Effect.
Let me tell you a story…
I was an innocent twenty-one year old former farm girl, in my second year in the big city, when a man climbed through the window of my basement apartment and raped me. It shook my world and shattered my innocence.
But this story is not about the rape – it’s about what happened afterwards.
When I finally convinced the man to leave my apartment (after 2 hours of abuse and nearly being choked to death), I ran down the street to the home of my friends Terence and Sheryle. It was a place I knew I would be safe – where I could fall apart and be held together by their strength.
I sat and cried on their couch, and Terence sat at my feet, his hands gently holding my ankles. His face was full of agony and despair, as he held my pain in his strong yet soft heart. I’m sure he was feeling some of the burden by association for the violence a member of his gender had caused me.
Terence didn’t hesitate to phone his supervisor and take the morning off. He knew he needed to be there to help me survive that horrible morning of police reports, a hospital visit, and endless privacy-invading questions. (Incidentally, it was also my friend Terence who, years later, nearly delivered my second daughter when I showed up at the hospital where he was an ER doctor.)
Knowing I needed to be surrounded by people who loved me, that afternoon I phoned one of the most tender-hearted people I knew – my brother Dwight. He too rushed away from his workplace to be by my side. Dwight is one of those rare and beautiful people in front of whom you know you can cry without ever feeling shame. I’m pretty sure he joined me in my tears, making me feel wrapped in a warm blanket of love.
The next day – partly because I’d been taught by my Dad to be strong in the face of obstacles – I was determined not to let the rapist destroy my dreams. So I drove to the town where I was planning to participate in my first triathlon (as a cyclist on a relay team) that weekend. As I got closer though, I knew that the pain in my neck, and the overall shakiness and trauma of my body would not let me ride. I had to give it up, and I had to be somewhere that I felt completely safe, away from race crowds.
I turned my brother’s car around and headed home, to the farm – to the safe arms of my mom and dad.
When I walked in the house, I fell apart, in a puddle of tears and fear and anger and overwhelm. My mom did what she does best – wrapped her arms around me and nurtured me.
My dad fell silent, his body hunched with pain. While Mom soothed me, he walked out of the house. Moments later, he returned.
“I remember,” he said, his shoulders stooped in that familiar way he had of showing humility and agony, “a man whose daughter was raped years ago. He spent the next years of his life trying to find the man who did it so that he could kill him.” And then he paused while his voice shook. “Suddenly I know EXACTLY how he felt.”
Despite the pain I was suffering, I don’t know when I’ve felt so loved. My pacifist father, who didn’t believe in war or violence and never let my brothers have toy guns in the house, was suddenly willing to kill a man on my behalf.
This I know – it has been a significant blessing in my life to be surrounded by men who know how to love, how to show compassion, and how to show up when they’re needed. Though they may not have known it at the time, their tears were as valuable to me as their strength. Even though I had been abused by a man, I knew there were men I could continue to trust in my life.
It is partly because of these men that I can be the woman I am today.
There have been others too, throughout my life. Like my husband Marcel, in whose arms I crumpled when my dad died a sudden accidental death. Or my other brother Brad, who I have turned to many, many times for help – like the time he sent money for my sister and I caught in an urgent situation in Europe. Or my friend Rob, who sat and held my dead son Matthew, said few words but shed the right amount of tears.
There are many places in this world where my rape experience could have turned out so very differently. There are places where my father might have refused to talk to me because I’d brought shame on his household. Or places where I would have been shunned from my village for a sexual encounter before marriage, even if I was an unwilling participant. Or places where I would have been forced to marry my rapist because I was soiled goods and nobody else would want me. Or places where I would have risked yet another rape if I’d shown up at the police office to report the crime.
In Malaysia, Rath escaped a brothel where she was kept as a sex slave, went to report it to the police, and then was imprisoned by the police and later sold by a police officer to another sex trafficker.
In Ethiopia, Moinshet was kidnapped by the man who wanted to marry her, and then repeatedly raped by him and his friends. When she escaped and told the local authorities, they refused to arrest him and instead tried to force her to marry him. In the end, she had to leave her village because she was shunned for her refusal to marry him.
In Pakistan, Mukhtar’s brother Shakur was kidnapped and gang-raped by members of a higher caste. When his rapists became nervous that they might be caught, they accused him of having sex with a young girl from their caste. Mukhtar appeared at the tribal assembly on her family’s behalf to apologize and try to soothe feelings. The tribal council decided that an apology was not enough, and instead ordered Mukhtar to be gang-raped. Four men dragged her into an empty stable and, as the crowd waited outside, stripped and raped her on the dirt floor.
There are many, many other stories like this in Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide
, by Nicholas D. Kristoff and Sheryl WuDunn. Read it and be moved.
Thankfully, in some of the stories, there were men who stepped in and supported the women (like Moinshet, whose father took her away from the village and refused to marry her off to the man who raped her).
But I keep wondering… how do we change the paradigm for the men in these situations, not just the women? Sure we can insist that countries come up with better laws to protect the women, but how do we educate boys so that they grow up believing it is NOT okay to treat women like this?
What I keep coming back to is this – we need more men who are willing to step in and model a different way. We need more men like those who stood by me in my crisis, shed tears with me and then lent me strength, and we need them to teach others to do the same.
A lot of “what ifs” pop into my head.
What if the man who raped me had been raised by a compassionate father or taught compassion by his teachers at school?
What if our global leaders modeled compassion and deep respect for women?
What if police officers were taught not only to be strong, but to be compassionate? And what if the police officers we send to train police officers in other countries were doing the same?
What if we only elected officials who knew how to treat women with respect (and encouraged women of other countries to do the same)?
What if the peacekeepers we send to areas of conflict were actually modeling PEACE and not further exasperating the situation?
What if more development agencies were sending out male teachers who would model and teach compassion to boys in schools?
I personally know a lot of men who would love to see the world change for young women living with oppression. I sat with some of those men (my friends Larry and Steve) in that run down office in India that I talked about in my last post, where we all mourned the tragedy of so many young girls being sold into sex slavery.
If you are one of those men, THANK YOU. And KEEP IT UP. And know that what you are doing is of vital importance. Don’t give up until you have modeled it to enough other men that we see a sea change in the world.
Compassionate men, we NEED you!
by Heather Plett | Nov 16, 2010 | Uncategorized
This is my contribution to the Girl Effect Blogging Campaign. After you’ve read my post, I invite you to visit the other amazing writers who have participated.
There are images of young girls that sometimes haunt me when I lie in my bed at night trying to cross the divide between wakefulness and sleep.
Some of those images come from a remote village in the Afar district of Ethiopia. In the evening, as shadows lengthened and the sun settled on the horizon, young girls with elaborately beaded and braided hair danced alongside handsome young men whose curly hair shone with the butter they’d stolen from their mothers’ kitchens. With twinkly eyes and sideways glances, the laughing girls teased their eager dance mates.
The next day, we watched those same young girls walking by pairs down an embankment, carrying loads of crushed stones in colourful sarongs slung between them. Working alongside their fathers, mothers, neighbours, and the boys they’d flirted with the night before, they were helping to build a water diversion system that would provide their village with sufficient water for their crops and livestock.
Other images come from a similarly remote village in India. After hours spent traveling by rickshaw, bicycle transport, and boat to get to the island where they lived, we were greeted by young girls dressed in red and white with sparkly barrettes in their hair. They placed garlands of flowers around our necks and then carefully executed the steps of the dance they’d practiced for our arrival. Their young teacher looked on proudly, encouraging them as they danced. Later, after the necessary formalities, these same young girls skipped along behind us as we wandered through the village visiting some of the elders and seeing how the villagers had survived a recent flood.
Girls at risk
They’re pleasant images – and yet they haunt me. Why? Because so much could have happened to those young girls in the time since I’d seen them last.
All of these young girls are at risk. Where they live, they are quite possibly the most at risk members of society.
A year after my visit to Ethiopia, I met a man who’d been in that village recently. He shook his head sadly when he told me of the sadness in the village since our visit. A large number of young girls had died because of infection. In village gatherings, when families bring their young daughters to be subjected to the ritual of female genital mutilation, the same dirty knife is used for dozens of girls. Many of them succumb to infection and – with no hospitals close by – too many die.
These were the same beaded and braided young girls we’d watched innocently flirt with the butter-haired boys.
In India, after our visit to the villages in the Sundarban Islands, we sat with the staff of a local organization called HASUS who told us that their region – being one of the poorest regions in India – has the largest number of young girls who are taken from their families (with the pretense of being offered jobs in the city) and forced into the sex trade. While we were there, a list of names was passed from hand to hand around the table. On that list were at least two hundred names of missing girls (some of them as young as 10) that HASUS was trying to find and hopefully rescue.
Since our visit, the names of those young girls who danced on the dock especially for us (pictured above) might have been added to that list.
The many faces of discrimination
The more I travel, the more I hear stories about the vulnerability of young girls. Rape, murder, mutilation, sex trafficking, abduction, forceful confinement – all of these abuses put an alarming number of young girls at risk.
According to the latest estimates available, some 1.2 million children are trafficked worldwide every year. Most of these are girls who are being forced into the sex trade. Others are being used as domestic slaves.
In parts of India and other Asian countries, not only are girls being forced into the sex trade, but baby girls are being killed (simply because they’re not boys), and – where there is not enough food to feed the whole family – young daughters are sometimes left to starve. Mostly because dowry payments make them the most expensive members of the household, girls are expendable. Unicef estimates that 60 million girls are ‘missing’ due to prenatal sex selection, infanticide or neglect. In China, similar problems exist because of the one child policy and the desire of many families to have sons rather than daughters.
In many parts of Africa, female genital mutilation puts many young girls at risk. The World Health Organization estimates that more than 130 million girls and women alive today have undergone female genital mutilation, primarily in Africa and, to a lesser extent, in some countries in the Middle East. In Ethiopia, an estimated 80% of women aged 15 to 49 have been subjected to female genital mutilation. In some countries (eg. Egypt) the numbers are as high as 97%. The UN estimates that approximately 12% of girls die from septicaemia, spinal convulsions, trauma and blood-loss after circumcision. By those estimates, approximately 3 million little girls have died in Ethiopia in the past 20 years alone.
There’s more. In conflict situations, young girls are particularly vulnerable. An estimated 90 per cent of global conflict-related deaths since 1990 have been civilians, and 80 per cent of these have been women and children. Not only are they being killed, but they’re also being forced to join the conflict. Latest estimates suggest that more than 250,000 children are currently serving as child soldiers – many of them are girls who’ve been captured not only to serve as soldiers but as “wives” for the commanders of the armies, and mothers to their children.
In many conflict situations, sexual violence is used as a method of warfare. Women and young girls are terrorized and raped, and often left for dead. In recent Unicef studies in Liberia, a country that has seen significant conflict in recent years, people surveyed agreed that young girls are the most endangered group in Liberia and that there is no place and no time of day or night where adolescent girls could be considered safe.
Even in the absence of conflict, many young girls are raped and/or forced to become child brides. Globally, 36 per cent of women aged 20–24 were married or in union before they reached 18 years of age. An estimated 14 million adolescents between 15 and 19 give birth each year. Girls in this age group are twice as likely to die during pregnancy or childbirth as women in their twenties.
The facts are clear – especially in countries dealing with instability because of conflict or extreme poverty, young girls are the most vulnerable members of society. Even in North America, rape is considered a “silent epidemic”, with sexual violence remaining one of the most underreported crimes.
Is there any hope?
What does one person do in the face of such overwhelming statistics? More specifically, what do I do when the faces of those young girls haunt me in the night?
Sometimes I do the only thing I can do – I cling to my own young daughters and promise I will do everything in my power to protect them from such atrocities. I know that I can’t fully protect them (I myself was raped at the age of 19, shortly after leaving my parents’ home), but I will certainly continue to try. But sometimes that’s not enough. Increasingly, I’m feeling the need to stand up and do more – for my own daughters and for the girls who danced for me in India and Ethiopia.
Though the statistics and stories are crippling (and they almost make a person want to throw up her arms in despair and never read a newspaper again) they don’t tell the whole story. Fortunately in my travels, I have not only seen the dark sides of the stories, I’ve seen the bright sides. I’ve seen hope and I’ve seen deep levels of commitment. Most importantly, I’ve seen people who are making a difference.
In India, the young staff of HASUS are about as committed and compassionate as any people I’ve ever met. Working out of small, cramped, and run-down offices in Mandir Bazer, they work tirelessly to gather the names of the missing girls and search for them in brothels and sweat-shops in the city. While we were visiting, they took us to a construction site where they are building a new facility to house the young girls they have rescued from the sex trade and are helping to rehabilitate and re-integrate into society. In a small shack on the property, three young girls (former prostitutes) were being trained to do needlework so that they’d have a trade to provide for themselves in the future.
A couple of years ago, I met Mrs. Angelina Acheng Atyam, a mother whose daughter was abducted and forced to serve with the Lord’s Resistance Army in Uganda (and, while in captivity, gave birth to 2 of her abductor’s children). A few years ago, while her daughter was still in captivity, she decided that the only way to move forward from the depth of grief and anger that held her in its grip was to find a way to forgive and then stand up and fight. In a visit to Canada, she told a story of how she’d visited the mother of her daughter’s abductor to offer forgiveness and compassion. She started an organization called Concerned Parents Association Uganda to advocate for peace in her country and the return of all children held captive by the Lord’s Resistance Army. Her daughter and two grandchildren managed to escape the LRA and now live with her. Her daughter is going to university and is working to build a better life for herself and her children. Other young girls are being rescued and returned to their homes because of Angelina’s courage and determination.
In Ethiopia, I met a vibrant young woman named Elizabeth. She’d moved from the large city of Addis Ababa to the remote village we visited in the Afar region because she cared deeply for the people there and wanted to help them. She was teaching them to build water diversion projects so that they’d have access to water for their crops and livestock, but more importantly, she was serving as a model for the young girls of the village so that they could stand up for themselves in their village, take on leadership roles, and not accept the abuse of female genital mutilation. Because of her influence, the role of women is slowing changing. Women now sit on local government bodies – something that was unheard of before she moved to the village.
There are others like Elizabeth and Angelina and the staff of HASUS all over the world. They might not be able to change the whole world, but they’re changing their little corners of it. The least I can do is commit to joining them in their efforts.
What can I do?
Here are a few things that you and I can do to make a difference for young girls suffering from a myriad of abuses:
- Find and support good organizations that are actively involved in protecting, rescuing, educating, and standing up for young girls. I’ve mentioned a few that I’ve come into contact with recently – HASUS, Concerned Parents Association Uganda, Stephen Lewis Foundation, Unicef. There are lots of others. International Justice Mission (“a human rights agency that secures justice for victims of slavery, sexual exploitation and other forms of violent oppression”), V-Day (an organization started by Eve Ensler’s that believes “rape, incest, battery, genital mutilation and sexual slavery must end now”) and The Girl Effect (an organization known for their powerful communication tools like this video).
- Write letters to your members of parliament urging the government to invest in the protection and education of young women all over the world. Even though the statistics may be lower in North America, it is important that our policies not only protect our own daughters, but that young girls who seek asylum in our countries can be protected from their oppressors.
- Educate your daughters, nieces, and all of the children you care about so that the future can look better than the past. Just as importantly, educate yourself. For starters, read Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide
- Stand up to the oppressors and abusers. Don’t let them win. Look for ways to get involved. You might not be able to travel to India to help rescue young girls from the brothels, but that doesn’t mean you can’t help them. Some of the girls who are trafficked are being used as sex slaves right here in North America.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see the girls I met in India or Africa again, but their images will stay with me. They will serve to remind me that, until every little girl is safe from rape, mutilation, abuse, and murder, the world is not a just place. Until justice is found, none of us should get too comfortable or complacent.
It is partly for the young girls who danced for me in Ethiopia and in India, and who deserve a chance at a full and vibrant life, that I am pouring my passion into Sophia Leadership. Something must change.
