Written by Rachael. A vibrant young woman, just a few years older than my own daughters, who attended the same good Christian high school. Describing the way low-level Christian sexism, even with the very best of intentions, clips the wings of the girls God made wild at heart too. When boys get to go to Man Camp and scale cliffs and forge rivers and build go-carts, and girls go to Princess Camp and do nails and hair and cupcakes, and listen to talks on hygiene and how real beauty is from within.

GOOSE...

I remember it like it was yesterday.  Sitting on that school bus, defeated, or at least feeling that way.  Ten years ago, a thirteen year-old changed her life on the spot. It was completely intentional, completely simple, and completely stupid.  It took both resolve and determination; that determination that she knew she had too much of, and a sad resolve that for it, she would never be likeable. 

Too loud, too wilful, too confident.  That was not how a girl was supposed to be.  A boy, maybe, but a girl with these traits, well, she was obnoxious and unpleasant.  That was not what 'girly girls' were like.  It was not the right way to be a girl. No, the girls who were liked, who were approved of, they were quieter, milder, meek.  They did not speak up in class, lest they sound too smart. They were weak in P.E lessons; playing the damsel as they'd been taught. They sat daintily, dressed fancily, spoke softly.  They humbly despised their bodies. They had the sought-after 'Spirit of Gentleness'. 

But this girl was none of these things. She was fiery and bold, strong and confident, plain and raw.  She didn't like nor dislike her body; Actually, she'd never given it much thought. She loved her friends, adored her family, and lived in awe of her God. She was sad about poverty, drug-abuse, suicide and divorce. She was learning about the world she lived in, and she wanted to make a difference. She didn't have the answers. She was only a child. But she had a future full of time; Time to love, to work, to fight, to make change where change was needed.

But high school stole that future. At least, it tried it's very best.  She realised pretty soon that a girl was better sweet than strong. That opinions and intelligence were off-putting to the boys. And so, staring out the window of that bus, she decided. She'd become more likeable. Starting now, she'd be quiet and ladylike, sweet and shy. It would be better this way. So, overnight she changed. How easy it was! Like a wild goose; wings clipped, ready to be tamed.

The learning never stopped. Bit-by-bit, one well-meaning self-esteem workshop at a time, she discovered that she wasn't meant to like the way she looked.  Every time they split the girls and boys, she heard 'Your body...' this, and 'Your body...' that. 'You're beautiful, and gorgeous'. And 'Girl, true love is waiting'.  But the truth was, she didn't care. Or at least she hadn't until now. She'd wanted to talk about changing the world, about travelling, caring for the sick, and serving her God.  But alas, there were more pressing matters. For one, the shirts and jeans she donned each day were 'distracting' and 'immodest'. That scoop-necked tee showed too much of her pre-pubescent chest. She had dressed without a thought to how she looked. She'd dressed for practicality, and somehow, unknowingly, she'd put her brothers in harm's way. And so at school they gave her a large, bright-yellow top to wear. It may as well have said across it, 'SLUT'. For the remainder of the day, she hung her head in shame. 

She stopped trying in PE class, and she learned to quiet her opinions. She learned to hate her body, and to seek a man who'd lead. She learned to giggle, rather than laugh, tip-toe, rather than run, whisper, rather than speak. For years she kept it up. And it became her, it seemed.

But then, one day, when her report card said she ought to speak-up more, she saw her parents look at her, eyes full of confusion and surprise. In that moment, she realised what she'd done. She realised how she missed that loud, bold, daring girl.  She knew, now, she'd gone too far. But she didn't know how to go back. She cried, she grieved, she prayed. She wallowed for a while. She knew there must be more, and that she'd made a hideous mistake, but she'd lost herself, entirely.   The wild goose, now tamed, had forgotten how to fly...

.............................

There is catharsis in the re-telling of painful events, but it must be known too, that there was more to her story. There was healing, and there was hope. There was a God who never changed, and a fire that He stirred. There was a woman, who emerged, more confident than ever. There was the rising of a Jesus feminist*; strong, courageous, sure. And there is so much growth to come, of that I am convinced!

*Credit to Sarah Bessey for the term 'Jesus Feminist'. On point Sarah.