Thoughts on Leadership While the Nail Polish Dries

I love nail polish. It’s a low-commitment, low-cost vanity/beauty splurge that when used properly forces me to slow down and not do a whole lot. Which is why I am typing slowly and not moving my feet right now – pink on the toes and a french mani.

And when life slows I can breathe, pray, think and reflect.

Tonight I’m thinking a lot about leadership – the privilege, the joys and the costs. In a matter of a week’s time I saw how God was using me to develop a new generation of leaders (Pacific Northwest Asian American InterVarsity students, YOU ARE AMAZING!) and how God was still buffing and shining the rough edges of my leadership. There were moments of fear and confidence, of joy and anger, of front-door leadership like “fill in the blank with a Biblical patriarch) and back-door influence (Ruth, Esther, Mary, the Samaritan woman, the bleeding woman, the servant girl, etc.).

All while rocking lavender nail polish (last week’s color), telling funny family stories about rice cookers and kimchee refrigerator, and wearing a bra, which apparently is still enough of a novelty that as I head into the final week before I speak on leadership fails at the Asian Pacific Islander Women’s Leadership Conference next week, I reminding myself of how important it is to remember God created me and knew me before I was even born as 1.75-gen Korean American Christian woman, let alone a wife, mother of three, writer, speaker, yoga junkie and nail polish addict.

Gender or ethnicity doesn’t trump my identity as a Christian, but they are integrated, enmeshed in blessed and God-ordained ways and in broken and needing Jesus’ redemption ways, because Christians are not meant to be eunuchs. Embodied. Gendered. Which for me means wearing a bra and the great option of many nail polish colors. My seasons or micro-seasons of leadership are acutely tied to my physical state – pregnant, post-partum, nursing, PMS, exhausted from the gift and plain old work of raising children, peri-menopausal, and all of that is tied to my gender. And my embodied, gendered life is also wrapped and engrained with the values and mores of my Korean ancestors with a clashing or enhancing palette from my American host. How can that not affect, change, impact, enhance, and challenge my ability to lead?

It does. It’s not all negative, and I’m not surprised…unless I meet and talk with someone who has never considered her/his leadership through their cultural/racial/gendered lens.

What lessons have you learned about leadership, your own and that of others as well as how you are perceived and how you perceive others? Need some time to think? Do your nails.

 

 

The Ultimate Insult? Call a Man a Woman

I am not a hockey fan. I am the wife of a long-suffering Cubs fan, and by marriage I have learned all I know about baseball, football and basketball from my husband. We are not on the bandwagon, but that Stanley Cup sure is a sweet piece of hardware.

But why, why, why does this sort of crap still happen? Why did the CHICAGO TRIBUNE think the best way to insult Flyers’ Chris Pronger was to photoshop a figure skating skirt on him and title the mock-photo “Chrissy Pronger: Looks like Tarzan, skates like Jane”? Is it because we really believe “boys will be boys” and “it’s all in good fun”? Aren’t women sports fans too or do they think stuff like this is OK? And as a former journalist I can’t help but wonder what the editors were thinking when this made it past the first section meeting.

Men and women are both human – ¬†physically embodied souls and gendered in God’s image. That is no small thing in my book. We reflect something as humans and in our sexuality and gender of our Creator. What a horrible thing it is to know that girls throughout the world’s cultures are raised to know they are less than. They are worth less than the young boys who will carry on family names and wealth. They are worth less unless their bodies are used for the pleasure of others. They are worth less, and that has meant many girls grow up to be women who in some place in their hearts believe they are worthless.

So it breaks my heart and pisses me off to see a major newspaper repeat the same playground taunts I continue to hear to this day: don’t run like a girl, cry like a girl, throw like a girl, hit like a girl.