I’ve always been a feminist. A unwavering, unapologetic, opinionated
feminist even as a young person and as a teen.
Then reality hit, as it does for miiiiillllliiiioooooooonnnnnnnnsssssss
of women around the world. I got married
and had a baby, and all of sudden I did not have the luxury of
uncompromised principles. I had responsibilities
and duties and a love for this tiny human that overshadowed everything else. And to be honest I forgot to care. I found myself in a world of babies, and
breastfeeding and parenting and I quite liked it. I found a strength, embracing the total-woman
package. It was actually liberating for
me – I'd found a version of femininity that fit, as I’ve never connected to other stereotypical associations of being female. Even in hindsight, my world was
full of amazing women, living the lives they wanted, with supportive loving
partners – empowering women to be in charge of their bodies, their worlds and
their health. Many feminists in this worl…
I outed myself this week, on Facebook, as a
non-pray-er. This came as a surprise, as
I knew it would to many people I had known for a long time. I grew up in a traditional (and conservative)
church, and have been a very authentic and passionate Christian. But that has changed, but I had not really
told many people yet. This blog is, however, about the non-prayer bit, not the Christian-no-more bit – that might come later.
In terms of prayer, even as a Christian I never subscribed
to the ‘moving the hand of God’ version of prayer nor the ‘asking God to bring-out-the-sun-for-the-Church-picnic type prayers.
I could see no sense in asking God to bring out the sun in New Zealand,
when he didn’t seem to bring the rain for the droughts in Africa. This wasn’t necessarily cos I didn’t think he couldn't, just that he didn't. It just wasn’t the way he worked, for whatever reason. And asking God to intervene in the behaviour
of others seems closer to witchcraft than God-craft.