She is...

Table of Contents

1. Opening Segment
2. "She is..."
3. Foundation
4. Format
5. "The Flower"
6. "Sunshine in the Storm"
7. "It's a Long Way to Fall"
8. Homecoming
9. "(Give You) Back to You"
10. The Still, Small Voice
11. "In the Silence"
12. Her Gifts
13. "Grace"
14. "Quiet Fire"
15. "Gift of Flight (Intuition)"
16. "Dancing Girl"
17. "One Child at a Time"
18. Celebration


A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.
- Maya Angelou

email your comments

The Flower

{Music Begins}

As I've already stated, the qualities associated with the feminine spirit are available to one and all regardless of gender. But they most naturally and abundantly reside within the heart of woman. Something has called me to cherish many of the same traits women are known for, but as a man, I can never truly understand the mystery, beauty, and magic of womanhood. I can stand aside and marvel, or I can choose to follow the unfortunate suit of many who have gone before me and attempt to discount or devalue things that challenge me. Far too often, in practice, I have followed the norm and shared attitudes and actions that fail to show women the respect so richly deserved. Though many things have contributed to my reasons for creating this tribute, I must admit to myself that, at least a small part of my motivation comes from a bit of guilt over past attitudes. But as I become more and more comfortable allowing myself to be myself, I find it easier to lay down my insecurities and to cherish my own love for and understanding of the softer and gentler side of things. Even so, I can never hope to truly understand the total beauty of womanhood. So I stand on the outside looking in, in awe and reverence.

One day while I was walking outside my home I was taken by the beauty of a rose bush. The simple picture spurred an epiphany, and in a brief moment, I came perhaps as close as I ever will to understanding the life of a woman. The plant was hearty, and alive, and contained every imaginable stage of transformation a flower can go through. There were newly formed buds sharing branches with withered brown petals. But reaching out, as if to call me was one of the most beautiful and perfect flowers I have ever seen. I moved closer. The variety I had noticed on the plant seemed insignificant compared to the variety of shapes and colors within this one solitary blossom. The closer I looked, the more I discovered. Often in such moments of reverie, my mind is visited by an apropos melody ringing from the recesses of my memory. The lyrics to the song on this occasion seemed to answer a question I had yet to ask... singing " 'cause the soul of nobody knows, how a flower grows." As the thought echoed through my brain my heart was becoming aware that, beneath the tangible beauty of these perfectly arranged petals lies something far, far greater. I was left in awe when I considered the quiet force that caused the flower to grow. It was then, against a veil of mystery that I could plainly see a parallel between the life of the flower and the story of womanhood. Burning at the essence of the flower was a quiet fire, the flame of life itself. No matter how long I stood in awe of the beauty of the planet, I'd never be able to see the source of its life. As I moved my gaze from the beautiful bloom I could see that it was connected to the branch with the tiniest of stems. Again, an invisible power held the bloom steadily, for the stem itself was frail. Once again, I saw the heart of woman. Following the stem back to the branches downward until I reached the base of the plant that disappeared into the dark ground I saw the promise of life that had been held in a solitary bulb. Resting in darkness, it longed for the light. Not to be denied, life reached the surface and broke the bondage of dirt and rock, seeking the sunlight and the journey ahead. Soon, upon its emergence, the tiny plant begins to balance union with and opposition to the forces of the world we see before us. The tiny twig sprouts leaves, then tiny buds; the beginnings of the flowering that lies ahead. In this adolescent bud, another promise, the promise of her potential growth. The bud matures and finds in perfect time that life can no longer be contained. The bud opens and the flower emerges. She is beauty and life revealed before our eyes. How wonderful it is when this natural process is allowed to flourish unimpeded, unhampered, naturally, according to God's divine order. But it seems that woman more often falls victim to a plight short of the complete and beautiful flowering we see in the undaunted rose. Our world delights in using beauty for its own greedy desires and is quick to label delicate things as inferior. Too often, a young lady is cut from the vine before she has the chance to grow and mature. This is done in a variety of ways. Perhaps her fate parallels that of the women of past civilizations and she is sold into bondage by cultures that view women as maidservants or men's property. Perhaps she is under the influence of the traditions of other antiquated social orders and is pushed, often unwittingly, into predetermined roles. And far too often, she is manipulated by men who prey off her inborn desire for companionship, thereby transforming her positive traits of submission, devotion, sensitivity, and service from gifts into prisons. Regardless of how the unfulfilled promise is ripped from the vine, the result is tragic. And oh, how easy it is for the short-of-sight to discount what they cannot see. For these unfortunate beings, a promise unfulfilled is no loss at all. Often we are scolded for not stopping to smell the roses - but how much more pitiful it is to not even know of their existence.
Almost as tragic as the bud, clipped before its time, is the flower that is left on the vine to grow in solitude, reaching its peak only to be ignored or forgotten. Over the ages, so many doors have been closed to women. It's impossible to calculate the loss this has created. Is it just a dream to think of a time when the rose garden of womankind will see each and every plant and each and every bud grow freely, flowering fully in its own right time? Then, when the blossom reaches maturity, may it be gently taken from the vine and pressed in the pages of history, preserved forever in the beauty of justice.