I turned 34 in January. For a few months now, I’ve been joking with a friend that forty is starting to feel really close. I’m loving my thirties, but forty seems, not old, but maybe like I’m not wise enough to be approaching it. I thought I might be nearing middle-age since I’m turning 35 next year and I still part my hair on the side (I don’t have TikTok but I know that GenZ says that’s a “no” now). Then I did some googling and realized that no one else thinks that middle-age starts until 40 or 45. I have years to go…even though forty still seems close.

I want to own my age whether I’m 34 or 45. I want to mature and not just get old. I’ve never been one to crack jokes about being eternally 29 because I want to live these years and grow and mature and enjoy being that person versus the one I was at 29. (I’m hugging her in my mind as I think of her.) I remember being barely a teenager and there was an older teen, honestly she was probably in college, that I admired. She dressed well, seems poised; in other words, she was all the things I was not at 13. In a tiny way, it was a vision of hope for the future adult I might be.

When I was in my 20s, I remember multiple occasions when I looked around for the adult in charge, and realized that I was actually that person. It took me by surprise then but now I need to be prepared for that. I need to invest time and energy into wisdom and maturity so that I have what the people around me need, so that I am becoming who God is making me. To stay immature is to be selfish, unwilling to be uncomfortable and inconvenienced for the good of others. This shortcut to nowhere cheats myself too.

Every single time I have voted, I have felt the weight of the cost for my right to vote. In my shadow walks the women who petitioned and protested and went to jail in order for me to vote. (I also cannot leave that statement there without acknowledging that did not clear the path for all black women.) It’s an honor to participate in the workings of our nation. I call and email my representatives gladly because they cannot represent me if they don’t know how I feel. At some point, perhaps the next time there is an election and not a pandemic, I would like to assist with voter registration or even the election day process. I’m sure my ability to participate will shift over the years.

I am grateful to live in America; my goal is to work for the common good of all people. Although I participate in our country, my intention is to put my effort into the kingdom of God. My ethics are to be kingdom ethics, not party ethics. I may, at times, agree with one party or another, but I am also free to critique either. My allegiance is to Jesus and His kingdom. My desire to stay current on politics or the news is to engage well with the world. To care for my neighbors, to vote responsibly, to discuss how our theology weaves throughout our tangible lives requires an awareness of the world I inhabit. To speak credibly to the world about Jesus means I must speak from the reality of what the world is.

Over and again, my pencil scratches out the same strange symbols in a chart with crooked lines.

This month I’ve been reading Advent by Fleming Rutledge. The book is a collection of her writings and sermons on Advent which she insists is not just the coming of baby Jesus, but the “once and future coming of Jesus Christ.” I’ve made my way slowly, one tiny section each night before sleeping, and it wakes me from my stupor. It is easy for me to believe the stories on the surface of living: Christmas is commercial, next year will be better, I am what I make of myself. Marinating in those lies makes me sluggish, unwilling and unprepared to move with the demands and truths of life.

Instead of being lulled to sleep, I am called to be awake. If I was dead before Christ, now I am alive. As one who is alive, I am a child of the day, called to self-control and putting on armor. Rutledge frequently references 1 Thessalonians 4 in her Advent teaching, a passage speaking of judgment and relief that sounds unfamiliar to my Christmas ears. Because my mind associates Advent with a baby, with good news, with hope, I need her reminders that yes, Advent is about hope, but it is hope in the face of horror.

A few years ago, a friend loaned me a copy of My Own Words by Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I carried around that book of speeches and lectures and briefs for a couple of weeks, absorbing Ginsburg’s work and becoming fascinated with her as a person.

I went on to read Ruth Bader Ginsburg: A Life and fell in love with RBG. Lucky for you, you don’t have to read hundreds of pages. You can watch RBG, a 2018 documentary, or On The Basis of Sex to learn more about her life and all she has accomplished. America was a completely different world for women before RBG. I appreciate that work but spending time with her life taught me to admire her as a woman.

Here are some things I greatly admire about RBG:
-her ability to foster strong friendships with people who disagreed with her
-her marriage to Marty
-her work ethic
-her commitment to her beliefs/standards
-her lifetime of work
-her brilliant mind and logic
-her integrity
-her unswerving commitment to lead others to incremental growth

If you’ve been following along on Instagram, you know that we’ve been working slowly through a conversation on our gender theology. Week by week, we’ve tackled one topic at a time and I’ve loved having the space and the interaction for the discussion. This week, we’re going to discuss “headship” and the problems with using the term and I wanted to be able to share links with you.

I attempted to choose leading complementarian thinkers and theologians to give you the best views that there are. I have also tried to find definitions of headship or a related topic. When I point out how I disagree with them on this topic, I am not discrediting them as people or their ministries as viable parts of the kingdom. I encourage you to read all the posts for context and tone.