Why I Am Still Not A Feminist

I am without debate one of the strongest women I know.

I don’t mean to brag. It’s just the truth.

I’m Lebanese which means that I have steel in my blood. I was born to fight. I also run an ER for a living I guarantee you that’s not for the faint in heart. I am rock solid dynamite. And…I’m single. I mean city living proud to admit it single. I take my own trash out and clean my own gutters. I eat Tuna out of a can – when I’m desperate - and yogurt well past its expiration date. Yeah, I am as tough as they come.

Yet despite my conviction towards equality in all things social, political, legal and economic for women, I still do not identify as feminist.

See, I consider myself much much more than a feminist. 

You might think it’s semantics but it’s deeper than that. In an age where women brag that “the future is female” and Jesus feminist labels are embraced with pride, my own identity reaches far beyond that of a feminist. See, I am a follower of Jesus Christ, the King of Kings and the ruler of the universe. I am the daughter of my heavenly Father. I have been called by God and equipped by Him for a purpose. I am of royal priesthood, adopted into a family whose blood line was shed to give me life.

I don’t need to convince men of my place in the church. I have been promised by my Father that my place is in Him. I don’t need to work harder to be heard. I have the ear of the King of the world when I simply take time to fall on my knees. I might have been born Lebanese but I am a citizen of heaven.

I might practice medicine but I’m just an instrument in the hands of the healer. I might be single but I am never alone. My rights are protected by the giver of life. My future is guarded by the one who owns tomorrow. When I humble myself and choose to be a servant I find myself in the company of a King who humbled himself and became a servant. When I feel pressed down by glass ceilings I remember my Savior who was pressed down by a crown of thorns. When I feel marginalized from my purpose I go back to the basics:

I am as involved as I’ve been called to be. I do what my King tells me to do. I go where He leads me to go. I am as free as His blood paid for me to be.

Yes, I am much more than a feminist.

I am a follower of Jesus Christ.

What's your reaction to this article? Do you feel like supported as a woman in your Church or do you struggle to fit in? I'd love to hear from you in the comments section!

A Short Recap Of Refugee Medical Clinic

I just got back from a mission trip to Lebanon where we provided medical and dental care to hundreds of Syrian refugees.

Remember them? Millions – literally millions - of Syrians have escaped the terror in their land and have ended up in foreign lands, destitute and broken.

We the followers of Jesus are called to care about refugees. Remember the good Samaritan? Even the most beginner Christian is familiar with the language of loving your neighbor as yourself. If you need convincing then you might need a dose of God’s grace yourself.

The truth is that I never thought I’d help any Syrians ever.

I grew up in Lebanon and left my home country in the 80s in the middle of a bad civil war. Our enemies were Israel in the South and Syria in the north. Shortly after we left Lebanon, Syria occupied my country for a while. That the Lebanese aren’t natural fans of the Syrians is an understatement. To think that God would ask me to go back and help Syrians, well it never crossed my mind.

But God has plans all His own.

So I went back home and sat in the upper room of a Lebanese Church trying to figure out what in the world God was up to. I listened to hearts beating and touched battered worn out skin, I looked into terrified eyes and smiled when I could. It didn’t feel like much. Yet slowly one by one each pair of eyes found mine: grateful. Some old some young, some with obvious wounds, some with hidden ones, some even a little bit confused but every last one of them grateful.

Grace has a way of surprising you. You don’t think you need it until it’s yours for the taking.

As I handed out meds I heard the untold stories. Women who had given their lives to Jesus and lost their families – still smiling. Men who had prayed and seen God heal their families from cancer now rejoicing. Young adults who had escaped ISIS now praising God for His goodness. I had gone to Lebanon to help Syrian refugees but found out I was simply getting to know my extended family.

Grace has a way of reminding us of who we are: no matter what our passport says, we were sinners when Christ loved us. We were strangers and He claimed us as His own. We were broken and He healed us. We were hurting and He comforted us. We were homeless and He adopted into His family. Yeah, grace still has a way of bowling me over every single time.

Do you ever wonder how you could put a dent in the refugee crisis?

Perhaps it’s as easy as saying yes to grace, when you have no idea what God is up to.

Looking for more resources to help you get out of your comfort zone and show grace? You'll enjoy this teaching from my Book Stripped.