The FemiNEST

The only place I’ve ever been able to marry my edgy feminism and Christian ethics

It’s not everyday you get an invitation to Patricia Heaton’s house in Nashville, but when you’re friends with Destiny Herndon De La Rosa and share a conviction that Feminism demands equality, appeals for peace, and speaks out against violence, you might just find yourself knee to knee and elbows linked with 30 pro life activists in the glossy estate of America’s Mom.

It was a weird weekend.

It was weird enough knocking at the door of a TV icon because my purple-haired friend suggested I contribute to a retreat she organized for pro life women to put their heads and hearts together. I just hoped I wasn’t being punked. Can you imagine? There I was, in Nashville, with my brimmed hat, at the door of a shiny white mansion while Destiny chuckled behind some hidden camera? (All perfectly on-brand for her, by the way.) But, if I felt weird outside, inside was altogether otherworldly.

I arrived first. Awkwardly. I immediately asked to use the restroom as a tactic for more time— time to collect my thoughts, remember how to speak, wait for other people to arrive. I shut the door with no need to actually use the restroom and looked in the mirror taking stock of who I was amidst the many marbled examples of who I wasn’t and instantly felt silly about my hat.

I waited and prayed. Then ran the water to make my charade convincing— as one does in a fake bathroom situation.

Listening for clues (am I the only one who spends a good chunk of time hiding in bathrooms at parties?) I heard the sound of the doorbell and the high pitched greetings of other uneasy travelers. Their nervousness— our shared experience— settled my soul. I’ve discovered in my maturity that I’m not after an uncomplicated existence (life is hard after all) it’s more that I’m not willing to go it alone.

Complicated? Ok.

Together? No problem.

The skittish hellos and amateurish oohs and ahhs as guests admired a gorgeous home, even the delicate shyness of our acclaimed, high profile host echoed in the foyer. The people there? The people showing up? They were just people doing people things. We’re all more or less the same, I remembered. With that, I unlocked the door, straightened my hat, and shook some hands.

Now. People aren’t brands, and brands aren’t people. No one fits neatly. I understand that. After all, there’s nothing tidy about the ways I have had to marry my political ideas with the seriousness and fervor they deserve and live out my faith adherent to the moral convictions I’ve accumulated over the years trying my best to mimic the generosity of a Savior. I am quite the mishmash of ideas, theory, dogma, and good intentions in a banged up world full of chaos. I am still so hopeful for Thy Kingdom Come.

I thought meshing my edgy feminism with my Christian ethics would take some creativity because, as you might guess, suggesting a smashing of the patriarchy? Well, it raises a few eyebrows in conservative Christian spaces run largely by men. It’s only in secular spaces that I’ve been able to rail against the world being set up in a way where the needs of women are largely overlooked. And, conversely, it’s only in stain glassed sanctuaries with believing, similarly convicted sisters that I can lean in to the fundamental moral obligation to respect the dignity of every person as a child of God because we are a "people of life and for life".

So when I met Destiny Herndon De La Rosa and learned about the secular work of New Wave Feminists then convened with her friends in a star’s living room hoping to bring new life to the pro life movement, my worlds collided in ways I didn’t know to hope for.

One by one, each woman stood up tall and introduced herself to the room. With passion she described her work, with appetite she described her hope, with humility she looked around to each one of us and said what an honor it was to grow together, to lean on one another.

“Imago Dei says I have a moral obligation to defend human life, from conception until natural death,” she said.

“Pregnancy is not a disease… but injustice sure is,” she said.

“Pregnant women are continually made to feel like an inconvenience,” she railed.

“So I fight for equality,” she explained. “Equality on our own terms. Without sacrificing our femininity. Without becoming a uterus-less man in order to be respected.”

“You know how many billions are owed worldwide in unpaid child support?” she asked. “Abortion just enables men to disrespect and objectify women!”

“Politics are a dumpster fire,” she scoffed, “but I am called to be political and ask why. Why are people poor? Why do women feel forced to abortion?”

“It is because of the Gospel’s invitation to be a peacemaker that I will defend life whenever, wherever it is threatened or diminished,” she explained slowly with a pointer finger held in the air lest she be misunderstood or not taken seriously, ready to take on the world.

“The oppressed should never become the oppressor,” she said with the utmost conviction.

Owl eyed, I watched. Amazed, I listened. One by one, one woman after another stood up and spoke my heart. I wrote as quickly as I could. At one point I shut my eyes and just prayed. I wasn’t even sure what for. I only knew it was a holy moment so I did what I always do when I feel overwhelmed— I closed my eyes and asked for nearness.

It was in the southwest corner of Patricia Heaton’s living room that a vision came to me. I shy away from over spiritualizing things because I would be voted most likely to flip someone off for going slow in the fast lane, but with crystalline clarity I saw a redwood tree. I didn’t try to attach any meaning to it, I just smiled thinking of the strength I associated with such a sight, the strength I saw in these women. Another woman, another tree, another smile.

My vision was interrupted by a storm blowing in. It started simply and predictably enough but escalated quickly after I “saw” the forest of redwoods. Surrounded by windows and the wind strong enough to hear from inside, I opened my eyes, looked around to see if anyone else was concerned, then quietly asked my neighbor if she thought that wind sounded a little train-like.

We broke for lunch after the storm passed. Energized by the excitement of like minds, open hearts, and connected souls and probably an eventful storm too, it was hard to separate us. Chatter bounced around the marbled foyer as we mapped our destinations.

Sure enough, driving through the gated neighborhood, downed trees blocked the roads. Not limbs but whole trees. Giant, mature trees looked like they had been easily plucked from the ground and gently laid on their sides. I’d never seen anything like it.

Our retreat continued and the initial certainty of the power in that room felt otherworldly. Except now, with time and shared meals, visions and dreams united, the power felt exponential.

We weren’t standing alone.

As we were saying our goodbyes I snuck off to get a picture of the closest downed tree. If I hide in bathrooms for introductions, I try to slip out unnoticed and dash across the street for goodbyes. It was only when I snapped a picture of a tree the size of a building peacefully toppled that I remembered how clearly I “saw” a redwood forest. Curious for the first time about the potential significance, I googled “redwood forest” and read this:

“Instead of a vertical taproot, redwood trees have lateral root systems that extend over one hundred feet from the base, intertwining with the roots of other redwoods. This increases their stability during strong winds and floods.”

Fascinated, I read more. “Resistant to insects, able to withstand fires and floods, subject to no diseases, they endure for ages with no natural enemies but man.”

Amazing! How could they be that big, that enduring with no tap root?! How have they survived earthquakes, landslides, floods, strong winds, and other trees falling against them?

“Redwoods thrive in thick groves, where the lateral roots can intertwine and even fuse together with other trees. This gives them strength against the forces of nature.”

High winds? Bring it. Shifting ground? Post up. Rising waters? Say it again. Pests? F*€& around and find out.

With roots intertwined, they hold one another up.

Quick tears sprang to my eyes. I asked for nearness and was given a grove of redwoods.

Our lives aren’t bullet pointed. They are multi volume sets. Every now and then you have a moment that makes you about-face, look behind you and say that every single thing has added up to this. Bone by bone, muscle by muscle, hair by hair. Night dreams, day dreams, moments hardly understood, events barely remembered. Every single thing makes sense now that I am standing right here taking a picture of a toppled tree.

For me solidarity includes a scriptural call to promote peace and pursue justice in a broken world marred by violence. For me solidarity includes a consistent ethic of life. For me solidarity includes a society where women don’t feel they have to betray their motherhood while men live disconnected from their fatherhood.

I never even hoped for a room full of like minds, open hearts, and connected souls. I always felt like such a Lone Ranger with my mishmash. But here we are, all tangled up, and I am more hopeful than ever for Thy Kingdom Come.

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