The Courage of Deborah

In the quiet moments of my busy life, I often reflect on the challenges women face in their spheres of influence. The story of Deborah, a prophetess and judge in Israel, speaks profoundly to the complexities of courage and vocation. Yet, before we can embrace the beautiful resurrection of her story, we must first acknowledge the weight of what must die in our hearts and lives.

Naming What Must Die

The journey of recognizing the "deaths" in our lives, especially in the context of courage, is vital. For many of us, there are parts of our identity we cling to that no longer serve our true calling. I remember a time when I found my worth entirely tied to my corporate achievements. The accolades, the recognition, became my false security. In leaving the corporate world to embrace my vocation as a mother, I realized that I needed to surrender that old identity, which often left me feeling unworthy or inadequate.

In the midst of chaos, God whispers reminders of our truest selves. For Deborah, her position as a leader was a reflection of God’s calling, yet the societal norms of her time might have pressed her into silence. Old patterns of thinking—like the belief that women should be submissive or passive—must also die. As I observed my children navigating their own identities, I learned that my fears and insecurities could stifle their growth. I had to let go of the notion that being a stay-at-home mother meant losing my voice.

What needs to die in your life? Is it the fear of stepping into a new role? Perhaps it’s the familiar comfort of not rocking the boat in your relationships. Or maybe it’s the destructive habit of comparing yourself to others, which steals joy and peace. Each of these elements can impede our ability to step boldly into our vocations, just as Deborah stepped into hers. Recognizing these areas can be painful but necessary as we seek to embody our authentic selves.

The Descent into Death

Then comes the dying: Letting go is rarely a straightforward process. I vividly recall my own Gethsemane moments, where the decision to embrace motherhood came with a heavy heart. I felt the pull of my past life, the struggles of letting go of long-held ambitions, and the fear of failing in this new role. I remember standing in my kitchen, dishes piled high, while my children played noisily around me. I felt overwhelmed, questioning whether I was truly cut out for this. The weight of expectations—both societal and self-imposed—pressed down like a fog, blurring my vision of who I could be.

This descent into death is not just a single moment; it's a series of small sacrifices. The struggle against the ego and the desire for recognition is relentless. For Deborah, it was likely similar. She had to confront the hesitations of others and the expectations of a patriarchal society. Yet, she remained steadfast. The courage she exhibited by taking charge in a time of war reminds me of my resolve to face each day in faith, even when my heart feels heavy and my mind races with doubt.

Each step I took—like embracing the messiness of homeschooling or prioritizing family dinners—felt like a small death. The desire for a perfect home or the illusion of control slipped further away. These moments of ego death are woven into our stories, serving as a crucible for transformation, teaching us that true strength is often found in our vulnerability.

Holy Saturday Waiting

In the darkness: After the initial death comes the waiting, that sacred in-between space where transformation is brewing. It’s in these moments that I often feel most lost. My daily routines become a blur, and I find myself yearning for clarity. The disciples experienced this on Holy Saturday, caught in the tension between despair and hope. The echoes of their confusion resonate with my own feelings of uncertainty in motherhood. During those long nights of comforting a fussy baby or wrestling with a challenging homeschool lesson, I often felt like the disciples hiding in fear.

These wilderness seasons can be agonizing. I remember a particularly tough week where everything seemed to go wrong: car trouble, unexpected bills, and a child’s illness. The weight of these moments felt unbearable, a stark contrast to the joy I often felt in family life. Yet, in this waiting, I learned to find Christ in the mundane, recognizing that God is present even in the unseen, gently guiding us toward our resurrection.

Deborah, too, must have experienced her moments of waiting, grappling with the uncertainty of her people’s future while holding on to God’s promise. Entering into this space of liminality is an invitation to grow in trust, to lean into the mystery of what is yet to come. It is where we learn patience and resilience as we await the dawn of our own new beginnings.

The Unexpected Morning

But Sunday is coming: Resurrection b