A few years back I was part of a small group that looked at the story of Moses. For the first week we looked at the circumstances before he was born, and how God provided for this baby in a dangerous environment. The Israelites outnumbered the Egyptians, which was the reason that Pharoah made a cruel decree. 

 

"When a baby boy is born, throw him in the river."

 

But there were four women and girls who spoke out. This was culturally courageous. Two midwives refused to participate in infanticide. I find it amazing that we even know their names. Shiphrah and Puah let the sons live, and even lied about it to those in power. Miriam was Moses's sister, and as she watched over him floating in a basket along the river, she observed as Pharoah's daughter discovered the crying baby . 

 

"Shall I go and call a nurse for you from the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for you?"

 

As a young girl, addressing royalty was extraordinary. 

 

Then there was Pharoah's daughter, who must have informed her father that she was adopting this Hebrew child. This, too, was gutsy. 

 

I invited people in the group to tell about a time when a woman or girl spoke out. 

 

One person described how their six year old daughter stood up for a child who was being teased. Another parent spoke of when her daughter went off by herself away from the group. 
 

"They were gossiping, and I didn't want to be part of it."

 

It kind of made me want to dance. 

 

My own story was about our twins. During the summer after their sophomore year we went out for ice cream and they said they had something to tell me. They looked at each other and took a deep breath.

 

"We want to go to college in Europe." 

 

I think I choked on my ice cream. 

 

Yet they stepped into those dreams with grit, becoming fluent, and navigating the international bureaucracy necessary for studying in a foreign university. 

 

Both of them have graduated, having found their unwavering voices. If I were younger, I would dance.