Daughter of Breath perhaps you have forgotten what it is to be as shining as those 100 billion stars in our galaxy— I don’t blame you. the world has a way of smothering all that brightness which is not its own with a weighty dark— the slightest sliver of a glow they call conceit, as though it were for ourselves alone that we attempt to shine! as though the shining of 100 billion spheres was not a music meant for heavens ears— as though our voices too weren’t meant to carry like the radio waves into the farthest reaches of outer space— as though our bodies do not house the holiness that is the very breath of the Divine— (I’ve heard enough of little boys crying wolf at the shadow of a tree waving gracefully amongst moonbeams to be afraid myself I will admit.) but no longer— for I am a Daughter of Breath and fear is not my birthright— Joy is. and my breath is meant for singing— and my hips are made for dancing— and if your skin too glows by moonlight and if they catch you swaying with the trees, I hope you’ll join me in proclaiming once and for all that you are not the wolf that they claim to fear— but a God-made woman. each inhale and exhale the holiest name.
My first book of poems came out just a few weeks ago, and it’s been such a joy to see it in your hands that I’m already beginning work on a second one. This poem may just find it’s permanent home in those pages, but for now it lives here in the Poetess’ Pockets. (But in case you missed it, you can still get a signed copy of my book as the Sparrow flies with a personalized note from ME if you purchase your copy from my online store, or simply check out your favorite online retailer! as the Sparrow flies is widely available now.)
While my first project centered around the grief that comes with love, my next project centers around the reclamation of what it means to be divinely feminine in a church culture steeped in misogyny. I have long admired the work of Sheila Gregoire, Elyse Fitzpatrick, Beth Moore, Beth Allison Barr, along with so many others—and have watched in horror from the sidelines as so many men who supposedly love Jesus have come after them and others like them simply because of their love for Jesus and for women.
I have thought often over the years that because I am not a researcher, a historian, or a theologian that. I have nothing to add to this conversation about women and gender in the church. But I realized recently that is simply not true.
I am a poet, and as such, I have my grief, my imagination, the stories of the women who came before me and the stories of women surrounding me who love Jesus more than they fear man, and that is enough.
As a House of Rest reader, I am giving you this opportunity first; if you have a story that is stirred by this poem, or even just by my brief discussion of the topic here and you’d like to share it with me, I’d love to hear from you. I am gathering stories not only from my own life and experience, but from others, I plan to turn some of them into poems. It will all be kept anonymous, and many of the poems will contain composites of people’s experiences as opposed to one person’s only—but truly, if you’d like to share with me, I’d love to hear from you at gracekelleywrites@gmail.com. (Just put “Daughter of Breath Story” as the subject line). I’m happy to hear from men as well if you’d like to share about something you have observed as well.
Thank you as always for your support and encouragement. I’m so glad to have you here in this quiet place where we can be still, and still be loved.
warmly,
Grace E. Kelley
Weighty dark describes the gray perfectly. Your words provide a sweet relief with reminders of possibilities. As always, grateful. Love you.