I saw this message spray-painted in the middle of my walk to the produce shop today.
“All men cry quietly.” All men cry quietly. All men cry. Quietly.
I continued on, still chewing on it when I passed it again on the way back down the hill.
It is March (again? Still?), and it is Women’s History Month. Because of this, and not despite it, I think “All men cry quietly” is a timely statement to unpack.
More and more I am realizing that feminism is only partly about biological makeup and its consequences in our society. Another key aspect of it is, in a more abstract, energetic sense, reclaiming anything subconsciously deemed “feminine and therefore bad”— “feminine and therefore lesser.”
Crying, or expressing emotions in general, for example. Sensitivity. Rest. Creativity. Wonder. Beauty. Vulnerability. Introversion. Nurturing.
I’m taking this moment to hype up all of it.
Devaluing these traits affects women, surely—personally, as a sensitive, introverted, creative person it took a shockingly long time to not feel shame for wanting a career a) that I loved and b) that didn’t burn me out– but who is purely masculine? Who is purely feminine? If we’re being perfectly honest… if we filtered out the population for those requirements… we’d be left with psychopaths and robots.
Feminism, then, is for all of us. While it absolutely says “get lost” to any notion that women need to be entirely feminine to be “good” (thank goodness, say my sportiness, boundaries, and ambition), it isn’t about women being entirely masculine either, and it surely isn’t about men being entirely masculine— because we need both parts of the equation. On an individual standpoint, we need hustle and action or nothing would happen, but we also need quiet and art and emotions or nothing would have meaning. No one would feel connected to themselves or each other.
We need this all to be “good,” because when it is all expressed, the resulting balance is so incredibly good. The masculine parts of you are good. The feminine parts of you are good.
We need humans. Finally allowed to be humans. And, for God’s sake (and I mean that), we need to stop de-valuing anything creative, compassionate, or emotionally healthy.
So, to all the men (and women who have also internalized that a rigid toughness is the only way to succeed in this world) I leave you with this: Feel free to cry loudly. I am here for you. It is normal and it feels really frickin’ good and I could probably use a good cry too.
May unity continue to be the name of the game, friends. Go forth and be.
Hey friends! Thank you for returning to, or joining, this conversation.
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This week, I pose the question: What do hope and listening to new perspectives have in common?
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I propose this answer: They both expand our imaginations.
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While there is certainly a time to go inward and wholly accept a current reality (a hope that bypasses this is counterfeit), there comes a time to go outside of ourselves and imagine that there’s a better way–or maybe simply imagine the possibility that we don’t know everything–which is a relief, isn’t it? Especially when our thoughts stray toward something like, “This is just the way it is,” “This is a dead end,” “They are hopeless,” “I’m hopeless,” “This is hopeless,” etc.?
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An expanded imagination gives space for productive accountability, surrender, learning, community, and compassionate transformation to occur. So, we hope in some greater Good. We listen. And we act (or, in select cases, don’t act) from there, even when it feels like the biggest mess in the world.
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“See, I am doing a new thing!” God said through Isaiah, to both the exiles in Babylon and to us today. I’ve always read this in the tone of a very wholesome Picasso-type figure giddy to reveal the masterpiece he’s working on, one we never could’ve predicted. That seems fitting. God, the ultimate Creator, the genius Artist behind it all, is of course always creating things, transforming things, expanding things, progressing things for Good in new ways–and wanting us to share in that. We each were a new thing too, after all, and continue to be if we dare let Him work in and through us. (Say it louder for the stubbornness-prone *me* in the back!)
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“Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
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So, this week, in this place and beyond, I invite us to:
dare to listen to new perspectives (starting with the powerful ones below)
dare to imagine new possibilities
dare to hope… and watch God work.
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“Where do you find hope?”
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“’Hope’ is the thing with feathers-/ that perches in the soul-/ and sings the tune without the words-/ and never stops- at all-”
So begins Emily Dickinson’s famous poem on Hope, beloved (or perhaps begrudged) by many students as an example of extended metaphor. It’s a poem I taught to my students, a poem that I myself was taught when I was in their shoes. It’s a poem that, all those years ago in the dusty basement English classroom, seized my heart and mind with its beauty and vividness. Hope is a bird, hope sings: hope is my soul, my soul is a bird, my soul sings, even in the midst of a gale. It is one of the first poems I volitionally memorized, not because a teacher told me to but because I recognized in it words better than my own, words that I wanted to save so that they could spring forth unbidden when my own failed me.
Poetry—and really literature and art, as well—is a source of hope for me. It is a reminder of the constancy of human experience, of human suffering, and the ability of humans to triumph. It is the great border-flattener, removing not only barriers across time and space but also across mind and heart to let me glimpse the experiences of others and lead lives other than my own. And, it reminds me that despite all the pain and difficulties of the world, there is beauty and goodness and truth out there waiting to be encountered.”
Tracey Schirra is a current education policy research assistant in Washington, DC, former high school English teacher, and perpetual lover of learning. She dabbles in creative writing, various artistic mediums, and political theory. She is sunshine personified.
The core members of Skupnost Barka (Slavko, Marinka, Stane, Ado, and Marianca) and I painted this mural in the community’s new shed to inspire each workday. The scene depicts the gorgeous Slovenian landscape, and the verse, Psalm 33:5: “The earth is full of God’s unfailing love.”
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“I find Hope in every smile and lovely face of all our core members, as this means that they feel okay. Also in every vegetable in our garden, as this means we have food, we are not hungry, and we respect nature. I find Hope in every kind word. I know more and more we are people who dream and work for better relations – in our small community and wider. I hope and believe in a world of respect and love.”
Brigita Perdih is the volunteer coordinator and an assistant in the Skupnost Barka (L’Arche) Community in Medvode, Slovenia. This is a community of people with developmental disabilities (core members) and people without disabilities who live together, work together, sing together, cook together, garden together, dance together, and take care of one another. Brigita is an incredibly kind, fiery, adventurous (she once did rescue work in the Alps!), open-hearted woman who mentored me and many others during my summer with the community in 2017.
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“When I look at the world today I see despair. When I watch the news or walk down the streets of social media, hopelessness is looming in our posts and souls. However, when I look at Jesus Christ and his love for you and me fully demonstrated at His cross, I become optimistic, even in the face of death or poverty. If God has done so much for me already, what won’t he do to bring me through this too? I find hope in the person of Christ and what he’s offering to all humanity.”
Sive “Sylvester” Nogada is a follower of Jesus Christ, loving husband to Linku, and the executive Pastor of New Creation church. He was born and raised in Cape Town, South Africa, where his career thrived in church leadership, sports ministry, and sport for development and peace. His vibrant passion for community transformation, and success in carrying it out, led to him becoming a global trainer to church and parachurch leaders across Africa, London, and in the U.S. His ambition for sustainability in African missions has led him to pursue a bachelor’s degree in Business Administration at William Jessup University, CA. He hopes to use his education for holistic-socioeconomic transformation when he returns to South Africa–to set the captives free, give sight to the blind, and declare freedom. His joy will inspire yours.
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Artist: Adelina, age 6
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“I find hope reading the Bible…. also, I usually find hope when I’m snuggling with you, Mama.”
Adelina Wooldridge, age 6, in response to her mom, Nicole Wooldridge, posing the hope question. Adelina is an artist in every sense of the word (her striking sailboat painting is featured above!) a generous free spirit, and an effortless master of the one-liner.
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“I find hope in the mountains, with my calves achy, my breath heavy, and my soul singing the glory of God’s creation.”
Nicole Wooldridge led an initiative to install an entire new water filtration system for the Finca del Niño, and is currently pursuing a degree in Nursing near Seattle, Washington. She’s the mother of Kiara and Adelina, wife of Eric, a former “professional welcomer” to international university students, a lover of learning, a transformative communicator of peace and grace. Nicole lives out the deep authentic love of the Lord through all that life presents her.
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Photographer: Nicole Wooldridge, July 2020
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“I think hope is really when we experience [how God is working in all times of our lives]. Sometimes it is easy to be positive and have optimistic thoughts, no? But when we enter difficult situations—such as the sickness of a relative, financial difficulties, distance, circumstances like this—our faith gets tested and we must take a big step of faith to have hope in these times. Our priest Father Gregorio said once, ‘My hope begins where my optimism ends.” I agree with this. I have had months where it is difficult to be positive, but this is when God allows me to really experience hope. It allows me time to say okay, how am I living? How is my relationship with Jesus, really? And I realize I can continue with my life because I am truly entrusting everything to Him.” (translated)
Nely Herrera is a remarkably warm-hearted missionary with Missioners of Christ in Comayagua, Honduras, where she leads retreats for young adults through the organization Corazon Puro. Born in Nicaragua, Nely is dedicated to using her own experiences of hardship and faith to help young people establish healthy, loving relationships in their lives. She is a former missionary at the Finca del Niño and visits regularly to support the teenage residents.
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“When first asked “Where do you find hope?”, I thought to myself…well, that seems easy enough. But the more I thought about it, the harder it was for me to convey. I realized this difficulty was because, for me, hope rose out of some of the darkest times in my life. In past years, I battled with my mental health so much so that hope was truly all I was holding on to get through the day. Thinking back on these darker times in my life, I realized the true beauty of the word “hope”. It is something that I have held onto as a means to climb out of dark times and lean into God and my own light.
I believe that hope is found deep within our souls. I have found hope within myself many times before. It is wanting to give up but waking up every morning because the possibility of tomorrow is too good to miss. And honestly, I would not be answering this question if I did not choose hope on every single dark day. Back then, I could not see the light, but I found hope in myself and other people who have battled with their mental health and triumphed over their struggle.
More and more, I am learning that hope is in the little things. It is hearing someone say you did a good job. It is a teenager helping the elderly. It is allyship during times of civil unrest. It is simply waking up each morning ready to tackle a new day. For me, hope stems from these small, seemingly insignificant actions. It is seeing people work together, be kind, and be loved. Hope also comes from within, as mentioned before. It is the whisper on your bad days, telling you to stay. It is the last line of defense. Hope is the feeling, the aching desire that this life is still worth living, that the world is still beautiful, and that you can still find your light. Seek hope, feel hope…
…it will carry you.”
Taylor McCorkle is a Neuroscience PhD candidate at Drexel University College of Medicine, a former track athlete at the University of Pennsylvania, a champion of love, an inspiring mental health advocate, and just a really genuine friend. She co-founded the Neuroscience Graduate Students for Diversity Group (NGSD), an organization fostering a safe and inclusive environment in the Drexel College of Medicine community. She leads with love in way that makes all around her eager to join in (present company very much included).
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Thank you once again for being here. Now let us go forth, daring to listen to new perspectives, daring to imagine new possibilities, and daring to hope…
