Finding True Strength

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Finding True Strength with Gina Butz

When I was pregnant with our 2nd child, I prayed for a girl with red, curly hair. I got my wish, apart from the curls. Looking back, I see now I wanted so much more for her than that curly red hair.

I wanted her to live loved, to be confident in who she is, and to find her passion and live it well. I wanted her to love Jesus. I wanted her to be strong.

Even as she came into the world and grew, I was in a process myself of redefining what being a strong woman means. 

Strong was a descriptor people had used for me all my life, but not necessarily in a healthy way. They meant, “put together” and “self-sufficient” and “emotionally tough.” Born of years of believing the lie that I am on my own, it was a front I developed to prove my worth.

That kind of strength is impressive, but it isn’t inviting. It made me unapproachable in a way I hated, but the thought of loosening my grip on that image was terrifying. Embracing weakness and mess felt too far in the other direction.

God began to speak to me about finding my identity not in outward strength, but in my position as His child. As I did, I felt my view of strength shift. I believe now that true strength lies in owning our weakness, in being vulnerable enough to let others into our messy places. Weathering trials instead of avoiding them becomes fodder to strengthen us. And true strength is found in being our real selves, and in standing firm in our value as image bearers.

So I have tried to raise my daughter to be strong first by showing her that I am not as strong as she thinks, at least as the world defines it. There’s something heady about presenting an image to our kids of parents who have all the answers, never fail, never doubt. I realized early on that I wanted my daughter to think well of me, but in doing so, she might not see the real me. It would set up a false image she could never attain. Because the truth is, I’m not a perfect mom. I will sin against her. Sometimes (a lot of the time) I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have the answers. I fail. I doubt.

I want a daughter who has true strength-not a grit-your-teeth, bear-it-alone strength, but a humble, open, God-dependent strength.

I learned to ask her for forgiveness when I mess up. And when she fails, I remind her that we are both in need of grace. Together, we go to God for what we need. It takes strength to admit where we fail, and to lay ourselves bare for others to receive or not.

Sharing my insecurities with her not only shows her it’s ok to struggle, it gives her permission to share as well. Opening ourselves to others, to show them our tender places, is a great act of strength.

And when my daughter encounters pain, I am learning to let her experience it, rather than shelter her from it. I know how walking through trials has strengthened my character and my faith. I remind her of that when she wants to shy back from trying something out of fear of failure or embarrassment. Strength isn’t found in avoidance but in facing the storms with confidence that God will bring us through.

I’m teaching my daughter that strength is also found in knowing our own voices. It’s been the greatest joy for me to see this girl, who can so easily question the “rightness” of her voice, draw lines in the sand about who she is and what she wants. When she acquiesced to wearing a dress for Easter, but she insisted on pairing it with her mint green Keds, I celebrated. Deciding what is important to her and being true to herself translates to how she responds when the girls her age go in a direction she disagrees with. It takes strength to stand in who you are and what you believe when you feel like you’re swimming against the tide.


Finally, I hope my daughter knows that strength is not defined by her gender. When she laments that “girls have to do all the hard stuff, like get their periods and have the babies, and we are still viewed as less than boys,” I get the opportunity to tell her again that in God’s eyes, there is no lesser or weaker sex. She is an image bearer. That should cause her to carry her head high.

I want a daughter who has true strength-not a grit-your-teeth, bear-it-alone strength, but a humble, open, God-dependent strength. I want her to find it in owning her weakness, embracing vulnerability, and courageously facing whatever life brings, because she knows the One who carries her. I want her to stand in the strength that comes from knowing who she belongs to, and believing that everything about her is good and divinely inspired. That’s true strength.


After 13 years overseas, Gina Butz and her husband are currently raising two third culture kids and an imported dog in the exotic land of Orlando, Florida, where they serve in global leadership for Cru. You can connect with Gina on her blog Awakened, and also on Twitter and Facebook.

Field Notes from a Strong Daughter

Field Notes from a Strong Daughter with Sarabeth Weszley

I don’t really think of myself as a strong woman.

I just think of myself as a woman.

The “strong” is implied. Referring to myself as a strong woman feels like calling myself a “breathing woman.” I think it strange that I could be anything but.

I don’t say this to dismantle the impetus of the blog you are currently reading (how to raise strong women), but to give my mom some credit.

I don’t actually know what she did to raise me as an empowered woman, other than become one herself. I watched (in somewhat of an adolescent haze) my mom as she wrestled with the expectations placed on her as a mom in ministry, and I watched her slowly feel less and less of those expectations coming from God. What Christianity no longer seemed to expect of her, she no longer expected of herself, and I knew that whatever she no longer expected of herself as a woman, she didn’t expect of me. It was a rather free-spirited girlhood.

I experienced pretty dramatic culture shock when I moved three hours West of the Chicago bubble I grew up in, to Iowa. Both of my parents held a view of God that made them feel equal as partners. My dad did the laundry; my mom led a non-profit. I led worship for my home church congregation, composed of grown men and women. None of these ways of life felt political to me; they felt common sense, and they felt spiritual! I didn’t believe God left me out of any part of his kingdom because I was a woman.

I landed in an Iowa church that didn’t let women lead worship, preached on Christian gender roles, and didn’t leave much room for me to question any of that (although I was still quite vocal about my concerns). When I did express disagreement, I was told my defiance was unbiblical womanhood. My role, I was repeatedly told, was to come under men and silently make their ministry unto the Lord look better. This so contradicted my egalitarian upbringing, which also claimed to be rooted in and defended by the Bible. I was confused. I started to study scripture, theology , and church history, attempting to understand how the God who so respected me all my life was also the God of this church.

At the same time, I was old enough that I started to notice the mistreatment of women all around me—not only in my church but also in my classes, and even in the stoner-artist “progressive people” parties I attended. Sexual violence and verbal abuse were commonplace for women in my town, both in and out of the church. I wasn’t quite sure of my theology yet (and to be honest, I’m still not) but I knew this was evil to God.

My mom and dad both let me throw my fists and tell them the world was ending as I discovered gender inequality, as if it hadn’t existed in Chicago. They didn’t tell me to calm down. There were enough people labeling female anger “hysteria” and “moral decay.” They knew I just needed to be listened to, even though not everything I said was entirely sound.

Eventually, through all the unrestrained anger, I began to hear God asking me to forgive my church, and ultimately, to forgive what I now came to know as sexism. I even felt called to acknowledge my own near-sightedness and sin in how I dealt with the leadership there. The funny thing is, when people had told me to do the same (submit, forgive, apologize to people who should be apologizing to me) it felt like sexism. When God told me, it was absolutely liberating.

That’s what I’m most grateful to my parents for. They trusted the Holy Spirit enough to let me discover righteous anger and forgiveness on my own. This was their parenting style as a whole, actually! I’m sure they were slightly terrified at the time, letting me screw up and swing between extremes in my worldview, but that freedom empowered me as a woman, and taught me how to empower others.

Now, although I dismiss many of the expectations my society places on me as a woman, I actually have some new expectations of myself, as a human.

I expect myself to forgive oppressors, as I hope others forgive me for my own inadvertent role as an oppressor in society (my nationality, race, wealth). I expect myself to be kind to the man who comes into the restaurant I waitress in, who asks me to compare my body to his fiancé’s and humor him with some flirtation—not because he deserves it, but because I’ve deserved nothing I’ve received. I expect myself to stand against sexism with strength and humility.

I must repeat, though, had anyone tried to convince me of this besides the Lord himself, I would not have listened; I am too spiteful and stubborn, and all too familiar with human attempts to silence women in the name of “morality.” So thank you, parents, for letting me stumble my way into self-sustained empowerment.


Sarabeth Weszely is a twenty-one year old writer, musician, and waitress who recently graduated from University of Iowa with a degree in English and Social Innovation. She recently released her first full-length, live album, I Talk to God out loud and we call each other Babe. This project along with many others serves as an unconventional prayer for those who do not pray and who are tired of praying alike, also addressing issues such as racial injustice from the angle of personal confession and apology. Sarabeth has a passion for human equality, playful art, and free-spirited Christianity. Her poems and essays have been published in the Iowa Chapbook Prize, Earthwords literary magazine, and Mockingbird. 

Angie Weszely is CEO and co-founder of the Christian nonprofit ProGrace. She has spent the past 12 years equipping Christians to create a third response to the abortion debate and meet the needs of both woman and child, first as President of a Chicago-based Christian pregnancy organization, and now in her work with ProGrace. As an accomplished speaker and coach, Angie leads ProGrace workshops and training sessions, while directing the mission, vision and direction of the ministry.  In her free time, she likes to hike in her Colorado mountain neighborhood, watch any BBC drama she can get her hands on, and hang out at home with her husband, two kids and three dogs. Connect with her on Twitter @angieweszely.

From Cheering on the Sidelines to Playing: Raising Girls while we Raise Ourselves

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From Cheering on the Sidelines to Playing: Raising Girls while we Raise Ourselves with Tracy Johnson

I had no idea that I would become more of myself for having had children, and my four daughters have each called out differently to the best in me. In helping them discover themselves I have often been faced with choosing how to more fully embrace my own self.

My second born, Allison, is the feeler in our family and I mean “feeling all the feels”, all the time. She is my extroverted, passionate, artistic wild child and she was also diagnosed with a learning disability in first grade. Growing up behind her academically high achieving sister was a challenge.

To be honest I struggled to understand the sister dynamic, as I didn’t have a sister growing up. The girls had an interplay of intimacy and animosity that was mind boggling to me most of the time. Sometimes I felt frustrated by their bickering and other times I felt like I had somehow missed out on something so beautiful it ached inside of me.

When Allison was eleven or twelve we were driving home from school one day when she began talking about how she wanted to get the cartilage in her ear pierced. I asked her why and she proceeded to talk about one of Katy’s friends and how she really felt Carly got her because she was an artist and wore interesting clothes and was the second born in her family, like Allison, and she had her cartilage pierced. She went on to make a comment about feeling alone in our family and like none of us understood her. I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I found some words and said, “I love that you see things in Carly that tell you that you belong.” Katy rolled her eyes and I quietly worried that I was losing Allison.

I pondered that whole conversation for days. I hadn’t wanted to come off churchy or with some sort of predictable response like, “Well you know you belong in our family” or “You’re not alone Al, we all love you.” I knew those words would just hit some hollow place inside of her and roll around leaving her sure that she was right and I didn’t understand her.

I had my own ear piercing story and it was a far cry from wanting my cartilage pierced. The whole process of simply getting my ears pierced had felt like a battle between good and evil and clearly ear piercing was evil and highly questionable. While I had often thought it would be sweet to have my cartilage pierced I never really considered doing it, sure it would garner raised eyebrows and judgment.

A week or so later I took a trip to visit a woman who was a mentoring presence in my life. As we stood in her kitchen talking one evening I shared about the kids and told her some of my current favorite Allison stories. She listened and said, “You know Tracy, it seems like you really cheer Allison on and I love that; and I see you on the sidelines and I wonder what it would be like for you to get out on the field and play with her?”

I remember standing there and feeling like I had been invited to something good. I didn’t have an answer in that moment, but I knew in my gut that I wanted to get out on the field with my girl and play.

I flew home pondering the possibilities and decided that a great way to play with Allison would be getting our cartilage pierced together. I picked her up alone from school one day and she was surprised and curious, “what are we doing Mom?” I told her we were going to the mall to get our cartilage pierced together.  She was shocked, and filled with joy. She couldn’t stop smiling and asking me, “Seriously, Mom, seriously. Why? Why are you doing this?” I told her that I loved her creativity and uniqueness. I told her I knew she was different from Katy and I told her that I’d always wanted to do it and how glad I was that we could do it together.” Her eyes danced as she listened and she was just a bit tearful.

It wasn’t as easy as I had thought it would be to get it done together. State laws prohibited me from getting her cartilage pierced without her having a military or state issued form of identification, which we didn’t have. Allison wasn’t bothered at all, “Well, Mom you should get yours done so I can see how bad it’s going to hurt!” So, I did. And, I was determined to find a way to get Allison’s done too.

A few days later with a piercing gun borrowed from a friend I pierced Allison’s cartilage in the parking lot of the conservative Christian school she attended, which did raise a few eyebrows and garner some judgment, somehow making it even sweeter.

It’s a fun story that marks the day I stopped cheering from the sidelines and began playing with my daughter to validate who she is and the uniqueness of her heart and soul, to let her know I was with her.  The beauty of it is that the validation I gave to Allison came from parched places inside of me that were watered in the process of loving her well.

Allison and I have continued to play and mothering her has taught me much. Today, she has her masters in leadership and works as a resident director at a college where she is passionate to see and care for each of her students as she pushes them to engage with topics of diversity, self-care, intentionality, and identity. I remain grateful for the wise woman who invited me to get out on the field and play - it’s wisdom I have passed down many times to other women trying to figure out how to mother their girls well.


Tracy and Allison

Tracy and Allison

Tracy Johnson is passionate about nurturing communities where people experience healing, hope and celebration.  A certified lay counselor she has written curriculum and traveled the world speaking on healing in the context of abuse.  Married for 30 years, she and Mark have five children. She is the founder of Red Tent Living and can be found on Instagram and Twitter @seizedbyhope.

Raising a Phenomenal Woman

The Year of Phenomenal Women with Tamara Cook

When I was a teenager, I had the amazing opportunity to hear Maya Angelou tell her story live. I had been blown away by I know Why the Caged Bird Sings and her poetry including the beautiful and a bit cheeky Phenomenal Woman with the famous refrain, “I’m a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that’s me”. I loved the strength that Maya Angelou projected in her story and especially in this poem. So, when my husband and I decided to design a coming of age process for our twins building up to their 13th birthdays, I was inspired to call the process with my daughter the “year of phenomenal women.”

As I thought and prayed about how I wanted my daughter (and me!) to grow, the fruits of the spirit from Galatians 5 seemed a beautiful guide for our journey. During a silent retreat, I sketched images linked to each fruit and brainstormed scriptures, books, movies, songs, inspiring women and related activities. I then reached out to an artist at Kitengela Glass to commission small round stained-glass circles to represent each fruit. Each outing began by giving my daughter a stained-glass which now all hang across her bedroom window. Our outings ranged from extravagant nights away to a simple lunch on the way home from the salon but each holds a special place in our hearts. Our conversations ranged from the silliness of crushes to the deep complexity of cross-racial adoption and identity. We laughed. We cried. And we each grew more into the phenomenal women that God made us to be and become.

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Here is a taste of our experience during the year linked to each of the fruits of the spirit:

 Love: We kicked off the year with a night away including a sushi-making class. We studied the famous love chapter in 1 Corinthians 13 about love as an action, not as a fairy tale. The stained-glass was a simple but powerful heart. We stayed up late watching movies linked to love (one from her generation: Catching Fire with lots of examples of selfless love and one from mine: Pretty in Pink with several different angles on what love means). I tucked her into bed by reading our worn copy of I Love You as Much and singing The Rose, a song I used to sing at bedtime.

 Joy: We considered the joy of our salvation in Psalm 51 and the line in Amazing Grace “the hour I first believed” that always brings a smile to my face. The stained-glass was a smiley face. The outing was a lunch out where we spent time joyfully staring at the clouds and imagining what shapes we could see.

 Peace: We explored the armour of God described in Ephesians 6 and especially what it means to have our feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. The stained-glass shows a dove in the shape of a hippy peace sign. Our shoe shopping outing was perhaps a bit too silly of a connection but we had a deeper conversation around I am Malala.

 Patience: We listened to U2’s 40 inspired by Psalm 40 and the idea of waiting patiently for the Lord. This stained-glass is an acacia tree reminding us of the patience of Wangari Maathai who embodied peace in her fight to bring the green belt movement to Kenya. She was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004, the same year we adopted the twins while living in Kenya.

 Kindness: We pondered the words of Isaiah 58 to loose the chains of injustice, share food with the hungry and provide shelter for the poor. The stained-glass was a sunrise recalling verse 8 “then your light will break forth like the dawn.” We also learned more about the work of Jane Addams and the Hull House.

 Goodness: What better description of goodness could there be than the sermon on the mount in Matthew 5? The stained-glass was a mountain and I had hoped we would go for a hike but she wasn’t interested so I didn’t push it and we still had a good talk.

 Faithfulness: In a world where faith can be so misunderstood, Romans 12 especially verse 2 reminded us that faith is not about conforming but about being transformed by the renewing of our minds and testing and doing God’s will. The glass was a simple cross reminding us of how Jesus embodied faith as well as all the other fruits.

 Gentleness: The imagery of Psalm 23 reminds us of God’s gentleness as he leads us beside still (and gentle) waters. The stained-glass was a stream and we read a stunning rendition of Psalm 23 interpreted for an African-American urban community.

 Self-control: We used Paul’s self-discipline metaphor in 1 Corinthians 9 of training for a race as we prepared for a 5k and our last night away. The stained-glass was a rainbow finish line accompanied by a silver necklace with all the fruits inscribed. We ran the 5k on our own because the race we registered for was the same morning as the baptism service. Both twins had decided to follow their steps of faith into the pool that morning where Daddy dunked them with tears in his eyes.

It has now been almost a year since we finished the Year of Phenomenal Women. The teenage years continue to come with the expected and some unexpected challenges. But those stained-glass windows still glisten in the window to remind us both what it means to be phenomenal women.

~Tamara Cook

Tamara and Kayla

Tamara and Kayla


Tamara is a follower of Jesus, wife of an amazing man who happens to be a pastor (, mama of three very cool kids, and head of digital innovations at Financial Sector Deepening Kenya ( She was raised in Chattanooga, Tennessee, studied international affairs at George Washington University, got an MBA at INSEAD in France and has lived with her family in Washington DC, Nairobi, Paris and Seattle while working to increase the value of financial services for people living in poverty. 

Read more from Tamara in A Voice Becoming: A Yearlong Mother-Daughter Journey into Passionate, Purposed Living.

Where Have you Come From: Restorying the Past

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Restorying the Past with Jenni Lillie

She and I flew to the small coastal town in the evening. My anxiety grew as we descended into the airport. I hadn’t been back in 12 years. The city was full of loaded memories for me. I knew she needed to see where she was born and hear the story of our brief time there that included her first year of life. I was ready to face the city with all of the underlying weirdness from the dark memories of that season. 

She had seen the photos from her birth and the day she was born. She had never questioned why her dad wasn’t in any of them. I hadn’t told her the full story yet.

The first full day was a surprise of her learning where she came from and full of stories. Our first destination was a retired battleship that you can tour and walk through. We ventured into the guts, galleys, and various decks ultimately ending up on the very front of the ship. As soon as I saw the enormous anchor, I knew it was where I would tell her the hard stuff of her beginnings with our little family. I looked around and it appeared to be just us on this huge ship. My heart started racing and I knew it was time.   

We sat down on the anchor and I pulled out a photo album from when I was pregnant, the day she was born, and her first few months of life. We flipped through the pages and I walked through the beauty and joy of finding out she was a girl and how excited we were. I paused, took a deep breath, and shared about life being a battlefield with hard things and no matter what happens in her life God is and will always be her anchor. He is good and loves us so much.

I held on to her when I told her that her dad and I were separated while I was pregnant and he wasn’t there when she was born. She was shocked. Her dad had written a note for me to give her when the time was right. She read it and we cried. She asked me a lot of questions, we talked, and for several minutes we sat quietly on the giant anchor in the silence and stillness of the sunshine. We stopped in the gift shop on our way out and she picked out a necklace with an anchor to remember.

I took her to the beach where I would go with her as a baby and we had a picnic lunch in the afternoon. She ran, played, and splashed in the waves. The ocean is her happy place.   

Later that evening, we went for a drive before dinner to visit the hospital where she was born. It was dark outside like when I had arrived there 12 years before to deliver her, but it was different too. The main building where she was born was there, but there were new buildings surrounding it. We walked inside and made our way down the hall towards the gift shop. A surprise gift was planning to be there - her dad. She ran to him when he walked in and jumped into his arms. It was beautiful to watch. This time it wouldn’t be just the two of us leaving the hospital together. The three of us were leaving the hospital with a new set of memories as a family. God makes all things new.

The anchor has become my daughter’s symbol of her journey into womanhood this year and part of the foundation of her becoming year. My prayer is she will put her hope in God all of her days and He will be her anchor in all of her joys and sorrows of life. 


God makes all things new. Jenni and Anna.

God makes all things new. Jenni and Anna.

Jenni has lived in France, auditioned for The Amazing Race, and started a photography business. These days she is growing two kids with her husband in Colorado and leading an outreach into strip clubs. She can be found on Instagram @jennilillie or Facebook @jenniowenslillie. 

Read more about Jenni in A Voice Becoming: A Yearlong Mother-Daughter Journey into Passionate, Purposed Living.