Ten Years
I was twenty-three when I started Rise (then Mended Women). I left my job with a gut conviction that the Church could do better by women. A few years earlier it had taken only six weeks of sitting with women in my college living room, witnessing the magic that happens when women gather in a place where they are welcomed fully, that left me forever changed.
This past spring Rise turned ten. Such a stunning milestone seemed a perfect moment for us to pause and marvel, to thank the One who has poured out these ten years so lavishly for and on us.
I was so young when Mended started, so far from my feet being underneath me. But I was passionate and empowered, most notably because of my parents. Ten years in and one of the things I am personally most proud of is that I am now only more passionate and empowered. God, in his audacity, has proven so many “grown-ups” wrong. I have not grown jaded. I have not become more “realistic.” I love Jesus more deeply, believe in the absurd beauty and power of women a million times more, and believe that a different way is possible more and more every day.
I’ll never be able to untangle my stumbling through young adulthood from Rise growing in its infancy. As much as I have raised Rise, Rise has raised me. She—you—has held my hand. Rise has reminded me of who I am, and gently but firmly demanded I be the fullest, most beautiful version of who God made me to be.
I have changed in tremendous ways, and Rise has changed right along with me. I have asked big questions about the world and about God and drug you all along for the ride. The Holy Spirit has blown both gentle and thundering, demanding our work and our trust. Jesus has been the steady rock underneath us for every day of the last ten years, even when all we could do was lay our faces on the cold stone and hold on for the next right thing. We have lost and gained; we have tried 100 things and held on to the handful of things that actually worked; we have shared in moments of unrelenting joy and moments of such darkness I wondered if our season was over.
While visiting with a friend last week we talked about how absurdly lucky we were to love our jobs, how rare it was, how sweet it was to share that in common. You have given that to me, and I hope I never miss what a gift of grace it is. I have had the kinds of opportunities that bring my face prostrate before God and humbled before you. You have let me walk with you through marriages and divorces, ordinations and walking away from all you thought you wanted, through miscarriages, infertility, adoptions and births. I have watched you thrive in and survive your singleness, watched you aunt and godmother like your life depended on showing up for your beloved littles. I have watched you fall apart and recover, commit to the long journey of healing and to the vulnerability it takes to ask for help. You have been promoted and fired, thrilled and crushed, published and rejected. You have invited me to your graduations, first sermons, birthdays, and funerals. You have bravely let me introduce you to women you have never met and made lifelong connections that still floor me. You have believed that when we all give what we have, we can all have what we need and in the process you have saved each other. You have shown me a resiliency, a joy, a love for one another that I could never have imagined.
Four years ago, Rise almost folded. After a year of recovering from a personal, crushing mental break, with no money in the bank and myself the only remaining staff member, a couple of trusted friends asked me why I would keep going. Without a moment of hesitation I said, “The women” and then proceeded to list your names, one by one. One of my friends looked me in the eyes and said, “We know.”
Rise girls, I adore you. I think you know that, but I will never stop saying it. Because ten years ago, I could not have fathomed how incredible each and every one of you would have been. I tell people constantly that the best part of my job is introducing incredible women to incredible women. You are the most darling thing I could have ever asked for. The things you have survived. The things you have flourished in. The things you have committed yourself to. The ways you have done good, good work and allowed Rise to play the smallest part in.
I would not dare to tell you what the next ten years will look like. The Holy Spirit is much too wild to be planned or predicted. I know we will open The Rise House, and that only God knows the vast gifts She is giving us in those four walls. I know we will keep raising tens of thousands of dollars to take care of each other. I know we will keep welcoming more women into a community that loves deeply across all of our vast differences. I know we will keep growing as individuals and as a group, being open and curious, willing to do the work and committed to resting in our belovedness, being gentle with ourselves and each other. I know we will celebrate and grieve, always together. I know the dreamers will keep dreaming and our wisdom-bringers will keep making sure we choose the right path. I know you will keep pastoring, aunting, writing, mothering, teaching, nursing, marching, volunteering, studying, creating, playing, reporting, advocating and showing up at hard jobs as good people in spite of the monotony. You will keep taking care of your parents and cities. You will keep tending the earth and the hearts of others. You will keep showing up, for yourself, with God and for a broken and beautiful world. And for as long God allows me, I will be right there with you.
Let’s keep proving the “grown-ups” wrong.
I love you,
Holly