the rebellion
She told me I'd rebel in the ways of monks, ringing the bells all over the hills.
It would be a freedom song, a call to action for women who are tired or hurt or broken down.
And I didn't believe her at first. I never do. I always sniff and rearrange myself and close my eyes against the blessing.
But it's time to own the rebellion.
Months ago, I started Rebel Diaries. It came out of another conversation with a friend after a few of my words resonated with a few of you and I realized there may be a whole lot of us aching to share our story.
So I opened it up for you to share, sometimes anonymously and always from the deepest places of who you are as a woman struggling to love this messy Bride who cuts and ignores and wounds and wants so badly to be good but often falls short because she's the human collective.
You kept sending me your stories, and I kept getting this vision of an army of women holding each other up and breaking in their marching boots and I soon realized this wasn't a passing thing.
See, it was gaining strength and velocity. And I loved it. I wanted to take each of you in and hold you close and grab your hand and whisper brave one you got this.
This is what Story Sessions is for me. One of the things I loved about teaching was reading something from one of my students and feeling that up-tic of breath when I realized that there was potential within those words. And I'd reach for the student as fast I could and would look him or her in they eye and because I'm emotional I'd get all teary and I'd say, "you can write, you know it? These words...they mean something."
I'd get the same way with my classes when we'd talk of narrative theory and how sharing stories can be healing and there would be the typical snicker and I'd grow all quiet and feel this mother-bear instinct kick in and I'd stand there in front of them and grow hot with the words flowing from my mouth.
Don't you dare let anyone tell you that your story means nothing. Your story is everything. Your story is part of you.
I swear you could hear a pin drop in those moments.
When I started Story Sessions, I had no idea how everything would come together. The teaching, the word-fire flowing through my soul to my heart to my mouth to their ears, even Rebel Diaries. It all seemed disconnected at first.
And then I got this email ::
Sometimes, I see your AP english training in some of our sessions and I think "Oh man, I bet Elora had no idea how God was going to use that, but here it is, setting us free." Not even that was wasted. I see the way you handed God every broken story you have, and I see the way He is making it beautiful again, and I think "I do believe that God can work all things into good. Turns out, I still believe that." So thanks, for being my general. Thanks for starting the army. I am so very very grateful to be allowed to sing my song.
And I started to cry. Big, fat, weepy tears all over the steering wheel because it's true. I had no idea. I had no clue He would use those moments grabbing the hands of my students and looking them in the eye and trying not to cry when I tell them their words matter. There's no way I would have believed you if you told me a year ago I'd be doing that very thing with women I've never even met before but that I would fight for in the space of a single breath.
These women - they're more than just individuals who've submitted pieces for my blog or signed up for an eCourse. They're my sisters.And every time someone else joins, a smile breaks across my face and the tears start to fall again because the army is getting bigger and our bells are ringing louder. Do you hear us? We're calling out to you.
