Captivating Revised and Updated: Unveiling the Mystery of a Woman's Soul

by John Eldredge

We have women friends who love tea parties and china, and friends who break out in hives at the thought of them. We have women friends who love to hunt, bow hunt even. Women who love to entertain and women who don’t. Women who are professors, moms, doctors, nurses, missionaries, dentists, homemakers, therapists, chefs, artists, poets, rock climbers, triathletes, secretaries, salespeople, and social workers. Beautiful women, all.

Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman. —TAMMY WYNETTE

You belong among the wildflowers You belong in a boat out at sea You belong with your love on your arm You belong somewhere you feel free. —TOM PETTY

Then the time came when the risk it took To remain tight in a bud was more painful Than the risk it took to blossom. —ANAIS NIN

I remember when I was ten asking myself as well as older females in my life how a woman of God could actually be confident, scandalous and beautiful, yet not portray herself as a feminist Nazi or an insecure I-need-attention emotional whore. How can I become a strong woman without becoming harsh? How can I be vulnerable without drowning myself in my sorrow?

We’re all living in the shadow of that infamous icon, “The Proverbs 31 Woman,” whose life is so busy I wonder, when does she have time for friendships, for taking walks, or reading good books? Her light never goes out at night? When does she have sex? Somehow she has sanctified the shame most women live under, biblical proof that yet again we don’t measure up. Is that supposed to be godly—that sense that you are a failure as a woman?

I know I am not alone in this nagging sense of failing to measure up, a feeling of not being good enough as a woman. Every woman I’ve ever met feels it—something deeper than just the sense of failing at what she does. An underlying, gut feeling of failing at who she is. I am not enough, and, I am too much at the same time. Not pretty enough, not thin enough, not kind enough, not gracious enough, not disciplined enough. But too emotional, too needy, too sensitive, too strong, too opinionated, too messy. The result is Shame, the universal companion of women. It haunts us, nipping at our heels, feeding on our deepest fear that we will end up abandoned and alone.

We think you’ll find that every woman in her heart of hearts longs for three things: to be romanced, to play an irreplaceable role in a great adventure, and to unveil beauty. That’s what makes a woman come alive.

There is something fierce in the heart of a woman. Simply insult her children, her man, or her best friend and you’ll get a taste of it. A woman is a warrior too. But she is meant to be a warrior in a uniquely feminine way. Sometime before the sorrows of life did their best to kill it in us, most young women wanted to be a part of something grand, something important. Before doubt and accusation take hold, most little girls sense that they have a vital role to play; they want to believe there is something in them that is needed and needed desperately.

And what about women like Esther and Mary and Ruth? They were biblical characters who had irreplaceable roles in a Great Story. Not “safe” and “nice” women, not merely “sweet,” but passionate and powerful women who were beautiful as warriors.

The King is enthralled by your beauty. —PSALM 45:11

This is so second nature, so assumed among women, that it goes unnoticed by them. They care more about relationships than just about anything else.

Most women define themselves in terms of their relationships, and the quality they deem those relationships to have. I am a mother, a sister, a daughter, a friend. Or, I am alone. I’m not seeing anyone right now, or my children aren’t calling, or my friends seem distant. This is not a weakness in women—it is a glory. A glory that reflects the heart of God.

As Tozer says, “God waits to be wanted.”

And so you’ll see that women are endowed with fierce devotion, an ability to suffer great hardships, a vision to make the world a better place.

Beauty reminds us of an Eden we have never known, but somehow know our hearts were created for. Beauty speaks of heaven to come, when all shall be beautiful. It haunts us with eternity. Beauty says, There is a glory calling to you. And if there is a glory, there is a source of glory. What great goodness could have possibly created this? What generosity gave us this to behold? Beauty draws us to God.

There is a radiance hidden in your heart that the world desperately needs.

“Any idiot can face a crisis. It’s the day to day living that wears you out.” Somehow, somewhere between our youth and yesterday, efficiency has taken the place of adventure. Most women do not feel they are playing an irreplaceable role in a great Story. Oh, no. We struggle to know if we matter at all. If we are at home, we feel ashamed we don’t have a “real life” in the outside world. We are swallowed by laundry. If we have a career, we feel as though we are missing out on more important matters like marriage and children. We are swallowed by meetings.

Women who have never even considered that our Martha Stewart perfectionism might not be a virtue. We have never considered that by living a controlling and domineering life, we are really refusing to trust our God. And it has also never dawned on us that something precious in us is lost. Something the world needs very much from us.

How a father relates to his daughter has an enormous effect on her soul—for good or for evil.

The nature of the assault might be different, but the reason there are so many struggling women is because there were so many wounded girls.

Rachel had a verbally abusive father. “I heard everything I suppose a girl can hear. ‘You are so stupid. You are worthless. I wish we never had you. You make me sick.’ I grew up believing I was repulsive to my father, and I did everything I could to try and make him like me.” Abusive fathers are a too common horror. Accomplices, broken mothers, are a painful reality. Both of them often come from abusive homes where the cycle of pain is ruthlessly repeated and passed down.

You cannot be alive very long without being wounded. The sun rises, the stars follow their courses, the waves roll in crashing against the rocks, and we are wounded. Broken hearts cannot long be avoided in this beautiful yet dangerous world we live in. This is not Eden. Not even close. We are not living in the world our souls were made for. Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark and in our own backyards as we journey through the unknown terrain of the moments and months that make up our lives. Take a deep look into the eyes of anyone and behind the smile or the fear, you will find pain. And most people are in more pain than even they realize. Sorrow is not a stranger to any of us, though only a few have learned that it is not our enemy either. Because we are the ones loved by the God, the King of kings, Jesus himself, who came to heal the brokenhearted and set the captives free, we can take a look back. We can take his hand and remember. We must remember if we would not be held prisoner to the wounds and the messages we received growing up. The horror that abusive fathers inflict on their daughters wounds their s...

Debbie’s father had an affair. What made it confusing was that in many ways, he was a good man. The message that settled in her heart as a teenage girl was, You’d better do more than she did or you won’t keep your man. After this came a young man who pursued Debbie, and then left for no apparent reason. We’ve known this beautiful young woman for several years now, and one thing has puzzled us—why is she always working on her life? Why is she always trying to “improve” herself ? Debbie is always looking for something to work on. Prayer, exercise, financial responsibility, a new hair color, more discipline. Why is she trying so hard? Doesn’t she know how amazing she is? What makes her search so frustrating is that she doesn’t know what is wrong with her. She simply fears that somehow she is not enough. Many women feel that, by the way. We can’t put words to it, but down deep we fear there is something terribly wrong with us. If we were the princess, then our prince would have come. If we were the daughter of a king, he would have fought for us. We can’t help but believe that if we were different, if we were better, then we would have been loved as we so longed to be. It must be us.

One thing I did know was that with every blow my hatred for her deepened. She turned my sister into a fragile mush of a person, and I vowed she would never do that to me. I vowed that I would be tough, hard, like a rock.” This she became, well into her adult life.

Shame causes us to hide. We are afraid of being truly seen, and so we hide our truest selves and offer only what we believe is wanted. If we are a dominating kind of woman, we offer our “expertise.” If we are a desolate kind of woman, we offer our “service.” We are silent and do not say what we see or know when it is different from what others are saying, because we think we must be wrong. We refuse to bring the weight of our lives, who God has made us to be, to bear on others out of a fear of being rejected.

Over the years we’ve come to see that the only thing more tragic than the things that have happened to us is what we have done with them. Words were said, painful words. Things were done, awful things. And they shaped us. Something inside of us shifted. We embraced the messages of our wounds. We accepted a twisted view of ourselves. And from that we chose a way of relating to our world. We made a vow never to be in that place again. We adopted strategies to protect ourselves from being hurt again. A woman who is living out of a broken, wounded heart is a woman who is living a self-protective life. She may not be aware of it, but it is true. It’s our way of trying to “save ourselves.”

Much of what we call our “personalities” is actually the mosaic of our choices for self-protection plus our plan to get something of the love we were created for. The problem is our plan has nothing to do with God.

From Eve we received a deep mistrust in the heart of God toward us. Clearly, he’s holding out on us. We’ll just have to arrange for the life we want. We will control our world. But there is also an ache deep within, an ache for intimacy and for life. We’ll have to find a way to fill it. A way that does not require us to trust anyone, especially God. A way that will not require vulnerability. In some ways, this is every little girl’s story, here in this world east of Eden.

The wounds you have received have come to you for a purpose from one who knows all you are meant to be and fears you.

Satan

This explains an awful lot. It is not meant to scare you. Actually, it will shed so much light on your life’s story, if you will let it. Most of you thought the things that have happened to you were somehow your fault—that you deserved it. If only you had been prettier or smarter or done more or pleased them, somehow it wouldn’t have happened. You would have been loved. They wouldn’t have hurt you. And most of you are living with the guilt that somehow it’s your fault you aren’t more deeply pursued now. That you do not have an essential role in a great adventure. That you have no beauty to unveil. The message of our wounds nearly always is, “This is because of you. This is what you deserve.” It changes things to realize that, no, it is because you are glorious that these things happened. It is because you are a major threat to the kingdom of darkness. Because you uniquely carry the glory of God to the world. You are hated because of your beauty and power.

When Eve was first assaulted, Adam didn’t do jack squat.

Back off, or, Leave her alone, or, You don’t really want to go there—she’ll be too much for you is something Satan has set against every woman from the day of her birth. It’s the emotional and spiritual equivalent of leaving a little girl by the side of the road to die. And to every woman he has whispered, You are alone, or, When they see who you really are, you will be alone, or, No one will ever truly come for you.

Not only do most women fear they will ultimately be abandoned by the men in their lives—they fear it from other women as well. That they will be abandoned by their friends, and left alone. It’s time to reveal this pervasive threat, this crippling fear, this terrible lie.

Now, Jesus said, don’t you think God cares just a little bit more for you than for the birds of the air? “Are you not much more valuable than they?” (Matt. 6:26). Indeed, you are. You, dear heart, are the crown of creation, his glorious image bearer. And he will do everything it takes to rescue you and set your heart free.

He did it to save her. For as we all know personally, something in Eve’s heart shifted at the Fall. Something sent its roots down deep into her soul—and ours—that mistrust of God’s heart, that resolution to find life on our own terms. So God has to thwart her. In love, he has to block her attempts until, wounded and aching, she turns to him and him alone for her rescue. Therefore I will block her path with thornbushes; I will wall her in so she cannot find her way. She will chase after her lovers but not catch them; she will look for them but not find them. (Hos. 2:6–7) Jesus has to thwart us too—thwart our self-redemptive plans, our controlling and our hiding, thwart the ways we are seeking to fill the ache within us. Otherwise, we would never fully turn to him for our rescue. Oh, we might turn to him for our “salvation,” for a ticket to heaven when we die. We might turn to him even in the form of Christian service, regular church attendance, a moral life. But inside, our hearts remain broken and captive and far from the One who can help us.

You see, we all pretty much handle our brokenness in the same way—we mishandle it. It hurts too much to go there. So we shut the door to that room in our hearts, and we throw away the key—much

But that does not bring healing. Not at all. It might bring relief—for a while. But never healing. Usually it orphans the little girl in that room, leaves her to fend for herself. The best thing we can do is to let Jesus come in, open the door and invite him in to find us in those hurting places.

It might come as a surprise that Christ asks our permission to come in and heal, but he is kind, and the door is shut from the inside, and healing never comes against our will. In order to experience his healing, we must also give him permission to come in to the places we have so long shut to anyone. Will you let me heal you? He knocks through our loneliness. He knocks through our sorrows. He knocks through events that feel too close to what happened to us when we were young—a betrayal, a ...

Part of the reason women are so tired is because we are spending so much energy trying to “keep it together.” So much energy devoted to suppressing the pain and keeping a good appearance. “I’m gonna harden my heart,” sang Rindy Ross. “I’m gonna swallow my tears.” A terrible, costly way to live your life. Part of this is driven by fear that the pain will overwhelm us. That we will be consumed by our sorrow. It’s an understandable fear—but it is no more true than the fear we had of the dark as children. Grief, dear sisters, is good. Grief helps to heal our hearts. Why, Jesus himself was a “Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief ” (Isa. 53:3 NKJV). Let the tears come. Get alone, get to your car or your bedroom or the shower and let the tears come. Let the tears come. It is the only kind thing to do for your woundedness. Allow yourself to feel again. And feel you will—many things. Anger. That’s okay. Anger’s not a sin (Eph. 4:26). Remorse. Of course you feel remorse and regret for so many lost years. Fear. Yes, that makes sense. Jesus can handle the fear as well. In fact, there is no emotion you can bring up that Jesus can’t handle. (Look at the psalms—they are a raging sea of emotions.) Let it all out.

Now—listen carefully. Forgiveness is a choice. It is not a feeling—don’t try and feel forgiving. It is an act of the will. “Don’t wait to forgive until you feel like forgiving,” wrote Neil Anderson. “You will never get there. Feelings take time to heal after the choice to forgive is made.” We allow God to bring the hurt up from our past, for “if your forgiveness doesn’t visit the emotional core of your life, it will be incomplete,” said Anderson. We acknowledge that it hurt, that it mattered, and we choose to extend forgiveness to our fathers, our mothers, those who hurt us. This is not saying, “It didn’t really matter”; it is not saying, “I probably deserved part of it anyway.” Forgiveness says, “It was wrong. Very wrong. It mattered, hurt me deeply. And I release you. I give you to God.”

Just a few weeks ago I was talking with our friend Debbie; she’s the one whose father had an affair and who has spent so much time and energy trying to “fix” whatever was wrong with her. “What if you have a genuine and captivating beauty that is marred only by your striving?” She leaned back against her chair and sighed at the thought. Something softened. Suddenly she was soft, and beautiful. The veil was parted, and there she was—a beautiful woman. Gone was the resignation; gone were the anxiety and pain. She was, for a moment, at rest. “What does your heart do with that possibility?” A moment’s pause. “Two things arise in me,” she said. “‘Hooray!’ and, ‘Damn!’” I smiled at her honesty. “Hooray that it might be true after all, and damn because what have I been doing all these years?”

God’s version of flowers and chocolates and candlelight dinners comes in the form of sunsets and falling stars, moonlight on lakes and cricket symphonies; warm wind, swaying trees, lush gardens, and fierce devotion.

Women are creatures of great mystery; not problems to be solved but mysteries to be enjoyed. And that, too, is part of her glory.

A woman who is striving invites others to strive. The message—sometimes implicit in her actions, sometimes explicit through her words—is, “Get your act together. Life is uncertain. There is no time for your heart here. Shape up. Get busy. That’s what is important.” She does not say, All is well. All shall be well. Her fear doesn’t allow it. She is withholding the very things her world needs.

By contrast a woman whose heart is at rest invites others to rest. That’s what we felt in June’s presence—and in the presence of many women we know and have come to love. We are invited to be ourselves.

A woman who is hiding invites others to do the same. “Don’t be vulnerable. Hide yourself.” A woman who makes herself vulnerable and available for intimacy invites others to do the same. After all, Eve is the incarnation of the heart of God for intimacy. She says to the world, through her invitation to relationship, You are wanted here. We want to know you. Come in. Share yourself. Be enjoyed. Enjoy me as I share myself. A woman who is controlling cannot invite others to rest, to be known. They will feel controlled in her presence. It won’t feel safe there.

A woman who is unveiling her beauty is inviting others to life. She risks being vulnerable: exposing her true heart and inviting others to share theirs. She is not demanding, but she is hopeful.

Jesus invites us to live as an inviting woman now, and find our healing along the way.

The gift of presence is a rare and beautiful gift. To come—unguarded, undistracted—and be fully present, fully engaged with whoever we are with at that moment. Have you noticed in reading the Gospels that people enjoyed being around Jesus? They wanted to be near him—to share a meal, take a walk, have a lingering conversation. It was the gift of his presence. When you were with him, you felt he was offering you his heart. When we offer our unguarded presence, we live like Jesus. And we invite others to do the same.