SheLoves Magazine

Hagar is misunderstood. And misrepresented. Her outline is sketched in contrast to Sarah, Abraham’s wife and would-be matriarch of Israel. In Sarah’s shadow, Hagar is a slave girl from Egypt who caters to her whims. But she also serves at her point of deepest woe—barrenness that denies her the glory of a child, the respect of her community and guaranteed position in the future of God’s people. When Sarah cannot conceive, she sends in Hagar. Having no say in the…

As an adopted person I’ve lived with the reality of a hidden history. My origin story remains unknown to me, sealed by a court order for almost 50 years now. I know little about my mother—just that she was Mexican and an accountant at the time of my birth. When I was three months old my parents adopted me. Even though my adopted mom is also of Mexican heritage, I was basically raised as a white evangelical. Growing up we…

I received my favorite Christmas card this year from D.L. Mayfield. A simple image in black ink on white cardstock of Mother Mary mid-step, skirt hiked up and fist in the air. She looks fierce. The words of the Magnificat encircle her: “Cast down the mighty. Lift up the lowly. Send the rich away. Fill the hungry.” I adore this depiction of Mary, not so meek or mild. Last week my family traveled from the U.S. to Burundi. We had…

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. According to Luke, the days were an unprecedented blur. The emperor called for a worldwide census, the first of its kind. The leadership in Judea (and every other region in Roman territory) scrambled to facilitate the massive registration of citizens. Everyone made plans to return to ancestral villages or host extended family traveling from afar. The known world was astir as Augustus tried…

Jesus is Lord! I’ve been singing this since I learned my first praise song under the wing of Mary at Saint Nicholas Church. Those around me sang it with a triumphant yawp. We’d summon our religious fervor and pierce the sky with our declaration about God who reigned supreme. We stood exuberant in our praise. Some called us charismatic crazies, but we didn’t care. If we could we’d shout from the church tops: Jesus is Lord! But sometimes, when the…

He’s African American—a threat. She’s Mexican—an immigrant, maybe an illegal alien. Her hijab says she is a devout Muslim, a mother of terrorists. His accent marks him as an outsider and thus, suspicious. Our current society shapes our sight of others in ways that are incongruent with the imperatives of Scripture. In days like these I find myself buried in the thickness of Exodus, our primal story of deliverance. It is a narrative about another pharaoh from another time, though…

“Blessed are you when you give a feast and invite those who cannot repay you; for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.” —Luke 14:14 In Luke 14, we find Jesus dining at the house of a well-connected man, a ruler who kept company with the influential and affluent Pharisees. Jesus tells them a parable about seating arrangements at a dinner party, one about the host making evaluations on who gets to sit at the seat of…

I first met Debra at our Arizona senator’s office. Our paths crossed again at an ACLU Resistance Training. This time Debra came with her partner, Candy, and shared that for decades, they’ve been organizing to secure their rights and were willing to join with us to continue the work on behalf of others. Truth be told, they offered not only solidarity but a rich education borne out of their experience. After the training session Debra invited me to her resistance…

It’s hard to imagine newness in the shadow of destruction. In the days after 9/11, we suffered disorientation. How could we think beyond the pile of smoldering rubble, the loss of life and the new insecurity that riddled our national psyche? It was like that after the destruction of the Temple, no one had the capacity to imagine newness in the wake of such catastrophic loss. We feel this sensation more than we realize, more often than we dare to…

On a Sunday morning one January in 2013, the central marketplace in Burundi exploded into flames. By the day’s end the hub of the local economy melted, ending the livelihood of too many. Dozens of mothers waited at the front gate of our little bank the following morning. They cried, lamenting their loss and fearing their future without inventory or income. My husband opened the gate and mourned with them. It was a day when only lament seemed appropriate. Claude…