Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow Podcast

Welcome back to No Pretty Bow. Today, we’re talking about grief—not just how it hurts, but how we begin to move when it feels like everything has stopped. I’m going to share three simple practices that helped me find my way through one of the darkest seasons of my life, and the surprising places where science and Scripture meet along the way. And before we begin, I want to invite you to look for my new Lessons in Genesis for the Faithful Homeless—a podcast and study series for those of us still seeking God, even when faith has gotten messy.

What if Genesis has more to say about your life right now than you ever imagined?

Join me for Lessons in Genesis for the Faithful & Homeless—a Bible study for those who still love God, even when church has gotten complicated.

Lessons in Genesi: Let there be Light The first two lessons are completely free. Come study with me. We begin Tuesday, Oct 6th. Listen and follow at your own pace

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

I created Lessons from Genesis for the Faithful Homeless for those of us who still hunger for Scripture, even when we no longer have a church that feels like home.

The first two lessons are open to everyone. Each includes the podcast, an accompanying study guide like the one below, and interactive questions to help us look more closely at the text—and at our own lives.

I have eighteen lessons planned as we make our way through Genesis together, not simply asking what the text says, but what these ancient stories have to say to those of us trying to remain faithful when faith itself has become messy.

Beginning with Lesson 3, the series will continue for paid subscribers, along with our weekly discussion. If you find some water from the rock here—something that feeds you in the wilderness—I’d love to have you come with us.

Prefer to work through the lesson on paper?The five-page study guide is just below. Keep scrolling after the guide for the complete podcast transcript and Sources & Further Reading.

Join the Conversation

You don’t have to answer all three. Choose the one that gives you something to think about.

* What did the light reveal for you this week?

* What did you notice in Genesis 1 that you didn’t notice before?

* Is there something you disagree with or want to explore further?

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Transcript: In the Beginning

Introduction

Welcome to the Lessons from Genesis for the Faithful Homeless study. I’m so excited about this study.

Many of us have found ourselves without a home church after years of attending church. So I want you to know this study is as much for me as it is for you.

I think for many of us, leaving church was almost an involuntary act. We would have stayed if we could. So much of our personal identity had been shaped by the church. We breathed it, lived it multiple days a week, but circumstances—in some cases beyond our control—made it impossible to stay.

I’ve talked to so many women. I’ve heard stories of church hurt, church abuse, sexual abuse, idolatry, immaturity—the whole gamut. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there are many cases where people leave church not because they’re angry at God, but because they are faithful to God.

There are church environments so unhealthy that staying can risk your spiritual health. This is a reality we need to talk about more. We need to validate our own experiences and the experiences of others rather than whitewashing what is true to our lived experience.

We aren’t perfect—that’s the truth. We are never completely innocent in any circumstance. There are so many things I could have handled better. But God does sometimes ask us to leave what’s comfortable and go out into the wilderness, and he does it to deepen our faith.

So that’s where I find myself. I have left environments that were not healthy for me. I have prayed and sought God’s counsel, and God placed it on my heart to go.

I whined to God.

“I’ve put years of work in. I’ve been so dedicated, so faithful.”

And God whispered to my heart:

“Was it the work you loved—or me?”

I was convicted.

I was staying because of what I built.

God wants us to stay because of what he’s built.

I actually spent many years in church not being fed very deeply, and I was longing for it. Here in the wilderness, we still need spiritual food and water.

And that is really what No Pretty Bow is about. It’s about finding water from the rock, finding manna in the desert, and finding new ways to make and build community centered on God rather than worldly idols.

What does faith look like when we don’t get a pretty bow or a happily ever after?

So, we’re going back to the beginning.

Genesis.

I’m going to start with just the tiniest amount of background.

Although the Old Testament was written primarily in Hebrew, the word Genesis—γένεσις—actually comes from the Greek. It means beginning, origin, or birth, and it’s where everything in the Bible begins.

Jewish and Christian tradition has long viewed Genesis and the Torah as books attributed to Moses. But the book itself never reveals who wrote it. Modern scholars generally see the book as developing over a long period of Jewish history, incorporating ancient stories and traditions that became deeply connected to the identity of the Jewish people.

The stories of Genesis have profoundly shaped all three Abrahamic traditions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam—so the stories in this book are culturally and historically important. We have thousands of years of tradition rooted in them. These narratives lie at the center of identities, cultures, and customs, and certainly at the center of the Christian tradition.

I’m treading on well-worn ground here—ground so rich that I think we could have thousands of commentaries and still have many more written without covering half of what is ready to be harvested from this text.

Genesis has inspired an extraordinary range of commentary and conversation. Biblical scholars, theologians, writers, psychologists, and artists have been returning to these stories for thousands of years, finding new layers of meaning in them.

Genesis is highly studied for a reason.

These narratives are rich with meaning. They are archetypal stories in which we continue to recognize ourselves—stories of chaos and order, exile and homecoming, betrayal and reconciliation, fear and faith. This is why they remain so interesting, valuable, and practical for those of us trying to rebuild our lives after rupture, chaos, and disorder.

Our study will examine these narratives through the lens of the faithful homeless.

We will be looking at what these stories have to say to those of us who feel like outsiders, who have suffered loss, who have found ourselves relating to God’s people wandering through the wilderness searching for truth while recognizing that many of our religious institutions have not offered what we are so desperately searching for.

We’ll look at the text through a variety of lenses: the literary lens, the theological lens, and the psychological lens. These are areas that have shaped my own discipline as an English teacher, minister, and survivor of trauma, and I hope we can read these stories together and find encouragement, inspiration, and spiritual nourishment.

So let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

The Text

Genesis 1:1–5 begins:

1 When God began to create the heavens and the earth, 2 the earth was complete chaos, and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. 3 Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

The first line of Genesis becomes a frame for the biblical worldview:

In the beginning, God created.

Look Closer

What we have here is an idea that sustains people of faith: it is God who creates. It is God who acts. And God acts in a way that is orderly and yet creative at the same time.

But even those very first words are more interesting than they initially appear.

The Hebrew begins:

Bereshit bara Elohim et hashamayim ve’et ha’aretz.

בְּרֵאשִׁית בָּרָא אֱלֹהִים אֵת הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֵת הָאָרֶץ

You may have grown up hearing:

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.”

But the NRSVue gives us:

“When God began to create the heavens and the earth…”

There is actually a long-running discussion among Hebrew scholars about the grammar here. Bereshit can be understood in relation to what follows—something like when God began creating. That is one reason the NRSVue begins this way. Walter Brueggemann emphasizes something important for our purposes as well: from the opening of Genesis, God is not presented as cold or static. God acts. God speaks. God creates.¹

And what does the world look like as this creative activity begins?

The next verse gives us another wonderful Hebrew expression:

tohu va-vohu — תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ

The NRSVue translates this “complete chaos.” You may know it from other translations as “formless and void.” The Hebrew carries ideas of emptiness, desolation, and lack of structure.²

So when I use the word chaos, I don’t necessarily mean that Genesis presents some raging evil force fighting against God.

Think:

Unformed.

Unordered.

Uninhabitable.

Something that has not yet been made into a place where life can flourish.

And darkness covers the face of the deep.

Then we encounter one of my favorite phrases in these opening verses:

וְרוּחַ אֱלֹהִים — weruach Elohim.

Ruach is one of those wonderful Hebrew words that English has trouble capturing with a single word.

It can mean wind.

It can mean breath.

It can mean spirit.

The NRSVue translates ruach Elohim as “a wind from God.” Other translations give us “the Spirit of God,” while Old Testament scholar Gordon Wenham discusses the possibility of understanding the phrase as a “mighty wind” or **“wind of God.”**³

I love the ambiguity.

Wind.

Breath.

Spirit.

Movement.

Life.

Presence.

And then there is the verb describing what this ruach is doing:

meraḥefet — מְרַחֶפֶת

It is a participle, giving us a sense of continuing movement—something like hovering, fluttering, or sweeping over the waters. E. A. Speiser draws attention to this continuing movement in his treatment of the verse.⁴

So sit with that image for a moment.

The world is tohu va-vohu.

Unformed.

Darkness covers the deep.

And before God says anything, the ruach Elohim is already moving over the waters.

Before God says,

“Let there be light,”

God is already present.

And for me, that suggests something important:

The presence of darkness does not necessarily mean the absence of God.

Before anything visibly changes, God is already at work.

Then God speaks.

“Let there be light.”

And there was light.

There’s something else here that disrupts the way I was raised understanding this passage.

God’s omnipotence was stressed in my church tradition. I was taught to think of darkness almost automatically as evil and God as the light that vanquishes it.

Darkness certainly develops other symbolic meanings elsewhere in Scripture. But that’s not quite what Genesis 1 is doing here.

God creates light.

God sees that the light is good.

Then God separates the light from the darkness.

And then God does something fascinating.

He names them both.

God calls the light Day.

And the darkness?

He calls Night.

The text never says:

“God saw that the darkness was evil.”

Darkness isn’t destroyed.

It is distinguished.

It is bounded.

It is named.

And this pattern of ordering continues through Genesis 1. God separates. God names. God establishes places and purposes. Old Testament scholar John Walton has particularly emphasized this dimension of Genesis 1, arguing that the chapter is deeply concerned with God establishing an ordered and functioning world.⁵

Walton develops a much larger argument about what creation itself means in Genesis 1, and if you want to chase that rabbit all the way down the hole, I’ll give you some resources at the end.

For us today, I simply want us to notice what the text itself keeps showing us:

God brings light.

God sees.

God separates.

God names.

God creates order in which life can flourish.

And perhaps there is something here for us.

Lessons from Genesis

I think of this in my own life.

When we try to bring order to something that’s a mess or covered in darkness, not much can happen until we turn on the light.

I have a messy closet in my house full of shoes and, let’s be honest, things I just threw in there when I was busy.

Things got significantly worse when my closet light died and I didn’t change the bulb for a couple of weeks because life got busy.

Then, when I finally sat down to the task of organizing it, the first thing I had to do was replace the light.

With the light, I could see:

Wow. This is a real mess.

And then I got creative.

I went to Bi-Mart—which is a store here in the Pacific Northwest—and got organizers. I figured out where to put my shoes, sweaters, pants, and jackets.

And suddenly, with a little creative effort, I had a gorgeous closet.

At least for a couple of weeks before life got busy again.

But I think there is some psychological depth here that we need to pay attention to.

Light doesn’t immediately clean the closet.

Light reveals the closet.

When our lives become chaotic, one of our first instincts can be to assign blame—even to ourselves.

Maybe you do have something to feel guilty about. Maybe there are things you need to own and change.

But first, you need to see.

And sometimes seeing isn’t particularly pleasant.

Once you’ve turned on the light—oh goody—you’re basking in its warm, life-giving glow, and then you look around and see the mess of your life.

The ugliness.

The misery.

The messy human relationships.

All of it.

Oh my God. This is what my life has become.

But it’s okay because now it’s in the light.

You take a moment.

You assess.

You think.

You sit in that light and allow it to guide your next steps.

Look again at what happens in Genesis.

God brings light.

God sees.

God separates.

God names.

And God continues creating.

Maybe rebuilding doesn’t begin with fixing everything.

Maybe it begins with seeing what is actually there.

Chaos can make us feel as though everything needs to be solved at once. Genesis gives us a different picture. Light comes. Things become visible. Distinctions are made. Things are named. And then the creative work continues.

So much of Christian faith is about repositioning our minds and hearts toward the light rather than simply sitting in darkness.

How do we do this?

Through the centering practices of Christian faith: spending time with Scripture, praying, and seeking God with a humble heart.

This means you’re reading the Bible, but you’re also listening. You’re letting the words and the wisdom sit and settle within you.

You are allowing yourself to see.

And once you see, you can begin discerning.

What is this?

What belongs here?

What doesn’t?

What needs to change?

What needs a name?

And what might God be inviting me to create now?

Perhaps, as people made in the image of God, there is a pattern here we can imitate.

So your marriage has collapsed.

You’ve lost a loved one—your spouse, your child, a dear friend.

You’ve lost a former identity that gave you meaning and centering, and life circumstances have snatched it from you.

Maybe you have disappointed yourself through supreme failure—not living according to your own goals, ideals, or moral compass.

Maybe you have simply been thrown into the wilderness without a light.

What do we do?

What might Genesis 1 have to say to us?

Take It With You

1. Turn toward the light.

Seek God with a humble heart. Read Scripture. Pray. Listen.

I always recommend starting with the Gospels. The Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5, for me, is incredibly centering.

Don’t demand that you understand the entire mess immediately.

Remember: before the light appears in Genesis, the ruach is already moving.

God’s presence may precede your ability to see what God is doing.

2. Look honestly at what the light reveals.

Assess your life under the light.

Be honest without beating yourself up.

This might take a while.

Allow yourself to sit under that light—to feel its warmth and power, but also to allow it to illuminate what needs to change.

Light is comforting.

But light is also revealing.

3. Discern. Name. Then begin creating.

What do you see?

Name it.

Separate what needs separating.

What is yours to take responsibility for?

What isn’t yours?

What belongs to someone else that you’ve been trying to carry?

What is healthy?

What isn’t?

What do you need to grieve?

What needs to change?

And then begin acting.

Begin creating.

You do not have to rebuild your entire life today.

Just begin.

Build Community

We are the faithful homeless.

Many of us don’t currently have a church community or religious fellowship that feels like home.

But we can still build community in the desert.

This week, try one of these. You don’t need to do all three. Choose the one that feels useful to you.

Meet someone you trust for lunch or coffee. Talk about your proverbial closet. What was sitting in the dark? What has the light illuminated? What are you beginning to see differently? Then ask your friend to share, too. Don’t try to fix each other. Listen.

Read the rest of Genesis 1. Notice how God creates. What does God do? Look particularly for the repeated actions—speaking, separating, naming, seeing, blessing, creating. What do you notice? Is there anything about God’s creative work that changes how you think about rebuilding your own life?

Ask a wise and trustworthy person to help you see. You might simply ask: “Is there anything you see in my life right now that I may be having trouble seeing?” Then resist the impulse to defend yourself. Listen. Take what is useful to prayer and Scripture.

And remember where Genesis begins.

Not with everything already ordered.

Not with everything already illuminated.

It begins with darkness over the deep and ruach Elohim moving over the waters.

And then God says:

“Let there be light.”

Come With Us

If you are faithful to God but have found yourself without a church home, I created this study especially with you in mind.

We still need to be fed.

We still need Scripture. We still need places to ask difficult questions, wrestle honestly with God, and find one another in the wilderness.

Lessons from Genesis for the Faithful Homeless is my attempt to create a little of that here—a place to look closely at these ancient stories through literary, theological, and psychological lenses and ask what they might have to say to the lives we are actually living.

The first two lessons are my gift to everyone. Beginning with Lesson Three, the study will continue as part of the paid subscriber community at No Pretty Bow, with each lesson including the podcast, study materials, reflection questions, and a place for conversation.

I have eighteen lessons planned for our journey through Genesis.

If these first lessons nourish you, I hope you’ll come with us.

There is still water from the rock. There is still manna in the wilderness. And none of us has to wander alone

Notes

1. Walter Brueggemann, Genesis (John Knox Press, 1982), 22–26.

2. Wilhelm Gesenius, Hebrew and Chaldee Lexicon to the Old Testament Scriptures, trans. Samuel Prideaux Tregelles (London: Samuel Bagster & Sons, 1846), s.v. “תֹּהוּ” (tohu) and “בֹּהוּ” (bohu).

3. Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15, Word Biblical Commentary, vol. 1 (Waco, TX: Word Books, 1987), 15–17.

4. E. A. Speiser, Genesis, The Anchor Bible, vol. 1 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 3–6.

5. John H. Walton, The Lost World of Genesis One: Ancient Cosmology and the Origins Debate (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2009), 23–35.

Debby Handman is a former minister (M.Div), educator, and single mother writing from the misty crossroads of faith and survival in rural Oregon. She is the author of the acclaimed novels House on Sand and The Gambler’s Wife, and her upcoming release, House of Broken Vessels.

Interactive Discussion Questions:

* What did the light reveal for you this week?

* What did you notice in Genesis 1 that you didn’t notice before?

* Is there something you disagree with or want to explore further?

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

We can all remember the moment we felt judged in church. What can we learn from that experience? This is what we’ll discuss in this week’s podcast.

Tuesday, October 6th I’m launching Lessons in Genesis for the Faithful Homeless. This is a new Bible Study for those of us who are unchurched, but searching for spiritual food and community. The first two episodes are free to all subscribers.

Lessons in Genesis: Lesson 1--Let There Be Light

Debby Handman is a former minister (M.Div), educator, and single mother writing from the misty crossroads of faith and survival in rural Oregon. She is the author of the acclaimed novels House on Sand and The Gambler’s Wife, and her upcoming release, House of Broken Vessels.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

This week’s podcast explores what happens to faith when we don’t get the pretty bow. Spoiler: We rarely do, but Christian faith offers something better.

If you’re tired of trying to practice a faith that requires a pretty bow, but not the truth, this is the place for you.

Tuesday, October 6th I’m launching Lessons in Genesis for the Faithful Homeless. This is a new Bible Study for those of us who are unchurched, but searching for spiritual food and community. The first two episodes are free to all subscribers.

Debby Handman is a former minister (M.Div), educator, and single mother writing from the misty crossroads of faith and survival in rural Oregon. She is the author of the acclaimed novels House on Sand and The Gambler’s Wife, and her upcoming release, House of Broken Vessels.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

This week we explore how to keep living even when the unexpected happens.

Subscribing means a new essay and podcast delivered to your inbox each week. This is a place for Christians who are no longer satisfied with the pretty bow—people who want an honest faith strong enough to face the ruins. A new Bible Study on Genesis for the Faithful Homeless is coming for paid subscribers in October.

October 6th, we begin Genesis together. Here's a little glimpse of what's coming. I'm so looking forward to this.

Debby Handman is a former minister (M.Div), educator, and single mother writing from the misty crossroads of faith and survival in rural Oregon. She is the author of the acclaimed novels House on Sand and The Gambler’s Wife, and her upcoming release, House of Broken Vessels.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

Sometimes when I wait for God to help me or take action in my life, it can bring me back to when I was a kid standing by the refrigerator hoping to find something good when I opened it. Waiting and hungering are part of the human experience. It is often the most frustrating aspect of a living faith, but what can we learn from it?

This is for the ones still standing in the refrigerator light, learning how to wait. Drop your email below so you don’t miss the next field guide for the wilderness when it drops in your inbox Sunday morning and a new podcast every Wednesday.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

Christian service isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be if you haven’t taken care of your spiritual needs first. Join me for this podcast that asks you to put spiritual formation above service.

Subscribing means a new essay and podcast delivered to your inbox each week. This is a place for Christians who are no longer satisfied with the pretty bow—people who want an honest faith strong enough to face the ruins.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

To speak or not to speak that is the question.

Christian women can find themselves struggling with scripture and cultural expectations on how we should use our voice, but what does the Bible really teach about speaking and silence?

Join me for a new podcast every Wednesday for those who love God, but are looking for a less performative, seeking faith. Become a free or paid subscriber.

Debby Handman is a former minister (M.Div), educator, and single mother writing from the misty crossroads of faith and survival in rural Oregon. She is the author of the acclaimed novels House on Sand and The Gambler’s Wife, and her upcoming release, House of Broken Vessels.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

This week we explore what it means to live in that space where you were hurt, but never got the apology you were waiting for. How can we train our hearts for this spiritual challenge?

No Pretty Bow is a reader-supported sanctuary. To receive new essays every Sunday and access our new podcast each Wednesday, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Debby Handman is a former minister (M.Div), educator, and single mother writing from the misty crossroads of faith and survival in rural Oregon. She is the author of the acclaimed novels House on Sand and The Gambler’s Wife, and her upcoming release, House of Broken Vessels.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe

Sometimes we leave a church not because we’re rebellious but because we’re faithful to God. Let’s talk about it.

Each week we have a podcast here at No Pretty Bow for those seeking a less performative faith—the faithful homeless, who love God but have not found a place that feels like their spiritual home.

Debby Handman is a former minister (M.Div), educator, and single mother writing from the misty crossroads of faith and survival in rural Oregon. She is the author of the acclaimed novels House on Sand and The Gambler’s Wife, and her upcoming release, House of Broken Vessels.

Get full access to Debby Handman: No Pretty Bow at debbyhandman.substack.com/subscribe