Calling All Queens
Reclaiming the Sacred Feminine in a Culture of Confusion
“She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” — Proverbs 31:25
Today’s entry is a letter to the feminine soul in exile—and a call to remember what Heaven has never forgotten. For every queen who’s felt hidden, weary, or erased—this is your awakening.
✨ A Personal Note
Before we begin, let me speak from the ache—not of critique, but of longing. This isn’t about reacting to culture’s confusion. It’s about recovering something sacred. I don’t have a daughter to raise, but I do have a son—and I find myself praying often: God, let him find a woman who knows her worth. Not by comparison. Not by applause. But by the holy calling woven into her very being.
Trending opinions or algorithms didn’t form the voice I write with—it was forged in the quiet strength of women I’ve known and the holy ache for those still searching for their name. It was shaped by watching my wife carry beauty and strength with dignity, the quiet, yet powerful, unwavering faith of my mother, who leaned not on her own understanding but on the steadfast love of the King of kings. It was stirred by the ache of women I’ve walked with, prayed alongside, and wept for—women who know, even if the world forgets, that they were not made to be consumed, overlooked, or constantly reinvented, but to live from the unshakable truth of their holy calling.
This isn’t a lecture. It’s a longing.
Not a plea for women to reclaim cultural power—but a call to reclaim sacred presence.
The world has tried to define femininity through marketing campaigns and social scripts. But queens aren’t made on Madison Avenue. They’re revealed in the mirror of Heaven.
This is not a burden to bear—but a beauty to remember. You are not being summoned to perform, but to come home.
This is an invitation—to remember. To rise. To return.
To be crowned not by culture, but by calling.
👑 Crown and Calling: The Feminine as Sacred Design
From the beginning, woman was never an afterthought. In Genesis, the creation of woman is not an add-on—it is a culmination. Adam’s aloneness is not a flaw in Adam, but a clue in the design. Humanity was never meant to reflect the image of God in isolation. Only together—male and female—does the divine image begin to emerge in its fullness.
The Hebrew word for woman, isha (אִשָּׁה), is drawn from esh (אֵשׁ, fire) and Yah (יָהּ, a sacred name of God). The woman is, quite literally, "God's fire." Not an accessory to man, but a radiant embodiment of divine essence. She is not a sidekick—she is sacred spark. Glory made visible. Her design is not utilitarian, but theological—a living symbol of the God who dwells in fire and speaks through beauty.
In Jewish tradition, women are seen as bringers of spiritual light. The Midrash teaches that Sarah’s Shabbat candles miraculously burned from one week to the next—an enduring flame that illuminated not just her tent, but the hearts within it (Bereishit Rabbah 60:16). This was no mere domestic glow; it was a sign of divine presence, a light that blessed, guided, and warmed. So too, every woman carries this ancient fire—not only to brighten her home, but to rekindle a darkened world.
She was not made from dust, but from the place closest to Adam’s heart. She was formed to walk with him—not behind, not beneath, but beside. In Hebrew, she is called ezer kenegdo (עֵזֶר כְּנֶגְדּוֹ)—a “helper corresponding to him,” as written in Genesis 2:18. The word ezer appears elsewhere in Scripture only in reference to God as a deliverer and sustainer. This is not the help of handing a tool—but the help of saving a soul. Not subordination, but sacred symmetry. Together, they mirror the mystery of divine unity.
To be feminine is not to be fragile—it is to be fierce in a way that holds life itself.
The woman was not created from the earth like Adam—but from Adam’s side, as Genesis 2:22 declares: "Then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man." The sages and mystics interpret this not as anatomical detail but as profound spiritual design. The Zohar (I: 85b) teaches that this signifies a sacred partnership—not above him to rule, not beneath him to be ruled, but beside him to reign.
“The male without the female is called half a body... and the blessing does not rest except where there is male and female united.” — Zohar I: 85b
The queen is not a metaphor. She is a reality written into creation.
But the sacred design was never meant to remain locked in the pages of ancient texts. It was meant to be lived—embodied, protected, passed down like flame from generation to generation. What was revealed in the garden, reaffirmed in the tents of Sarah, and echoed through the prophets was never mythology—it was blueprint. And when this blueprint is forgotten or rewritten, the consequences echo not only in theology, but in the soul of society itself. The war against womanhood is not new. It has simply taken on new disguises.
⚔️ The Wound and the War on Womanhood
But something happened. And we’ve all felt it.
Sometimes the war on womanhood roared through history—wielding oppression, violence, dismissal, and religious distortion. Other times, it came like a whisper—through cultural conditioning, quiet objectification, and the slow erosion of dignity. But perhaps the most devastating assault was not shouted, but silenced: when women began to forget their name—the sacred name Heaven spoke before the world ever offered its first critique. In Kabbalistic thought, a name is not just a label—it is a revelation of essence. To lose that name is not merely to forget—it is to enter exile from oneself.
“Exile is not a distance from land, but from identity.” — Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook
The mystics taught that when the feminine forgets her divine identity, the world tilts off balance. And so the war intensified—not always with swords, but with stories. With marketing. With language. With erasure.
And now, in our modern moment, the pendulum has swung not toward restoration, but toward confusion. Femininity is now treated as a costume anyone can wear, a feeling to be claimed, a role to be altered at will. In its most disembodied expressions, the transgender movement has blurred the sacred distinctions of design—transforming what was once honored into something hollow, not by malice, but by forgetting. But this is not liberation—it is desecration. It is not elevation—it is erasure. And women are feeling it—not because they are fragile, but because something sacred has been forgotten. This isn’t a condemnation of people—it’s a lament for what has been lost: the sacred design etched into the soul—holy, tender, and intentionally crafted.
They’ve been told to compete, to climb, to conquer—only to find themselves more exhausted, disoriented, and distant from their essence than ever before. They’ve been told they are too emotional, too soft, too intuitive—as if their deepest gifts were design flaws. But the truth is, those very traits are not weaknesses to suppress, but sacred technologies of the soul. Intuition is discernment. Emotion is empathy. Softness is strength under control. These are not excesses—they are the jewels in the crown. And in stripping women of these gifts, culture hasn’t liberated them; it has disarmed them.
“The feminine spirit is not weak—she is civilization’s heartbeat, both fierce and tender. Disregard her, and you rupture the rhythm of the world.” — Jordan Peterson (paraphrased)
And perhaps nowhere is this desecration more evident than in the rise of pornography. It doesn’t just distort pleasure—it defiles personhood. It trains the soul to see the sacred as consumable, the holy as hireable. What should evoke awe is reduced to an algorithm. What should be covenantal becomes commodified. And the great tragedy is that both men and women are shaped by it—disconnected from one another, and even from themselves.
This is not about politics. It’s about ontology. It’s about glory. The feminine is not a performance. It is a presence. And that presence is needed now more than ever.
🌒 Queens in Exile: The Crisis Beneath the Surface
In the language of Scripture, exile is not merely geographical—it is ontological. It is the soul’s displacement from its truest name. When Israel wept by the rivers of Babylon, it was not just land they had lost, but song. The melody of identity had fallen silent.
And so it is now.
“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.” — Psalm 137:1
Many women today live in a state of spiritual diaspora—not exiled from achievement, but from essence. They succeed, yet feel unseen. They nurture, yet remain unnoticed. They lead, yet are labeled. They give, but feel depleted.
These women hold families, communities, even churches and synagogues together—yet in the quiet corners of their hearts, they still ask, “But who holds me?”
Beneath these outward tensions lies a deeper fracture: the erosion of sacred memory.
In mystical teaching, to forget one's name is to forget one’s root in the divine blueprint. The feminine soul, once radiant with purpose, has been buried beneath layers of misnaming.
You are not what the algorithms define.
You are not what the mirror critiques.
You are not a costume of cultural expectations or the sum of others’ projections.
You are not erased—you are hidden.
You are not broken—you are becoming.
You are not obsolete—you are the oracle the age has tried to silence.
You are a queen in exile—but the King, the Bridegroom of your soul, is calling you back. Back to the garden. Back to your name. Back to the glory that was never lost—only waiting.
“The Shekhinah dwells in exile, not because she is banished, but because she is veiled, waiting to be welcomed.” — Zohar II:115b
And now is the hour of your return.
🤴 Crowned in Covenant: The King’s Sacred Charge Toward the Queen
In the sacred story, Adam’s joy was not complete until he beheld Eve—not because she was his subordinate, but because she was his completion. The crown of kingship is never meant to be worn alone.
A true king does not compete with his queen. He creates space for her radiance.
Kingship is not just about conquest—it is about cultivation. It is about making room for what is glorious to grow. The biblical king was called to establish justice, protect the vulnerable, and make space for the ark—the Presence. And that call extends beyond the tabernacle or the temple. It extends into the home, the marriage, the relationship.
“A man without a wife is incomplete, without joy, without blessing.” — Talmud, Yevamot 62b
A faithful man is not afraid of feminine glory—he is awakened by it. He recognizes that her crown is not a threat to his, but the completion of it.
To the kings among us: Your calling includes creating sanctuary—not only against enemies, but for queens. Your strength is proven not in dominance, but in how you dignify. The king who creates room for his queen reflects the heart of the King of kings—who laid down His life not to subdue His bride, but to raise her.
This is your charge: To see the women in your life not as interruptions to your mission, but as integral to it. To bless, not belittle. To elevate, not eclipse. To remember that the crown is not for self-glory—but for shared glory.
In the presence of a true queen, the king doesn’t shrink. He stands taller. And the world remembers what Eden once felt like.
🌿 Sanctuary and Song: Returning to the Sacred Place
The redemption of the feminine does not begin on a stage or a screen. It begins in the garden—not the garden of comfort, but the garden of convergence. A sacred place where dust and divinity meet, where silence becomes sanctuary, and where the voice of God still echoes through the trees.
This is where queens are crowned—not by applause, but by Presence.
Redemption is not reclamation of power as the world defines it—it is the reanimation of essence.
Not dominance over others, but dominion through devotion
Not pursuit of platform, but cultivation of presence
Not mimicry of masculine force, but the full integration of feminine design—intuitive, embodied, and holy
Scripture calls wisdom Chokhmah (חָכְמָה), and she is personified as a woman who calls out from the heights. The Spirit in Genesis hovers like a mother bird over the waters of chaos—birthing cosmos from formlessness. And in Kabbalistic thought, the Shekhinah (שכינה)—God’s indwelling presence—is feminine, radiant, often in exile, yet destined to return.
To be feminine is not to be derivative. It is to bear a sacred imprint of the Divine that is unrepeatable, untranslatable, and utterly essential to the healing of the world.
And the soul of the world is waiting for women to rise—not in emulation, but in embodiment. Not to impersonate power, but to illuminate Presence.
“The deepest concern of the soul is not to express itself but to return to its origin.” - Abraham Joshua Heschel
🌕 Sacred Rhythms of the Queen
Reclamation is not theory—it is embodiment. And embodiment is learned through rhythm. These are not prescriptions. They are sacred patterns—rituals of return for the feminine soul.
You don’t have to do everything at once. These rhythms are not rules—they’re reminders. Even one small return can shift the atmosphere of a life.
1. Sacred Stillness
Before creation came silence. Before action came presence. Begin each morning not with a task list but with a lit candle, a quiet breath, a whispered reminder: You are not what you produce. You are who God has named.
2. Naming Rituals
Look into the mirror with reverence, not critique. Speak aloud what Heaven has already declared: “I am not overlooked. I am not too late. I am crowned with glory.” Write the names Heaven calls you—Esther, Deborah, Miriam, Hannah, Mary—and place them where your eyes will remember.
3. Create Beauty
Beauty is not luxury—it is liturgy. Infuse your surroundings with intention. Adorn your table. Weave meaning into ordinary spaces. Every act of beautifying is an act of reclaiming the sacred. Beauty heals what chaos tries to steal.
4. Circle with Women
A queen may be crowned alone, but she reigns best with her sisters. Form a sacred circle. Tell stories. Lay hands. Sing old songs. Weep holy tears. The exile ends faster when the daughters rise together.
5. Intercede
The queen is not ornamental—she is intercessory. Prayer is not her last resort; it is her first work. Stand between the ruins and the promise. Lift the names of your children, your city, your generation before God. Your prayers shape worlds.
6. Remember Mercy
The journey home to yourself will stir both beauty and brokenness. As you reclaim your crown, you may also uncover the voices that told you you weren’t enough. Do not silence them with shame—bless them with mercy. Forgive yourself for what you didn’t know, for what you couldn’t carry, for what you were never meant to be.
🌺 Conclusion: The Queen Is Not Missing—She’s Awakening
This is not a summons to become something new.
It is an invitation to remember what has always been true.
The feminine glory was never erased—it was only veiled, buried beneath layers of shame, distraction, fear, and exhaustion. But the veils are thinning. And the King is walking the garden paths again. He is not searching for a servant. He is calling for His queen.
He is not summoning her to repair what others broke—but to restore what was always sacred. Not to earn a crown—but to wear the one she’s already been given.
The culture spins in confusion, offering counterfeit crowns and hollow thrones. But queens do not scramble for position—they settle into purpose. They do not echo the noise—they embody the knowing. They do not seek dominion through striving—they embody authority through being.
The healing of our fractured world depends on the return of feminine glory. And that return does not begin with activism—but with awakening. Not with rebellion—but with remembrance. Not with performance—but with presence.
You are luminous.
You are essential.
You are home.
Let the queens arise—not to take over, but to balance. Not to compete with kings, but to crown creation with the wisdom, beauty, and fierce love only they can bring.
The garden is waiting.
The throne is set.
The world cannot heal without you.
If no one has spoken this over you in a while, let me say it now:
You are not behind.
You are not too late.
The garden still remembers your name.
And the King still calls you beloved.
💞 Final Note: The Dance of Kings and Queens
There was never meant to be a kingdom of kings without queens, nor queens without kings.
The masculine and feminine were never designed to compete—but to complete. In Hebrew, the word shalom (שָׁלוֹם) means peace, but it comes from shalem—wholeness. And we are not whole without each other. Not as rivals, but as reflections. Not as hierarchies, but as harmonies.
The restoration of the world depends on this sacred dance being remembered.
To my sisters: Your presence is not ornamental—it is elemental. You carry a glory no algorithm can replicate and no trend can define. You are not too much. You are not too late. You are not forgotten.
To my brothers: Your strength was never meant to suppress—it was meant to shelter. Your authority is not validated by control, but by how you call forth the radiance of those around you. You are not here to consume queens—but to crown them.
To both: We were made for union, not uniformity. Our glory is not in being the same—but in becoming whole, together.
So let the kings rise in humility.
Let the queens rise in radiance.
Let the garden fill again with the sound of Presence walking in the cool of the day.
And let the world remember what love looks like when both halves of the Divine Image rise—side by side.
If this spoke to you, share it with a sister who needs to remember her crown. And if you'd like more reflections like this, subscribe below to walk the path together
Have a great day. Stay sharp, pray, and be ready to embrace your divine journey!
Ty
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📖 About the Author
Ty Nichols, M.Div., is a writer, educator, and spiritual guide who serves as the principal of a high school, where he mentors students at the crossroads of identity, faith, and formation. With a deep love for Scripture and sacred tradition, Ty’s work draws from the wellsprings of Jewish and Christian wisdom, mysticism, and cultural discernment. He is the author of Jesus Is Jewish, a work exploring the Messiah's Hebraic roots and the continuity between covenants. Whether in the classroom or on the page, Ty carries a longing to help others remember what is sacred, reclaim what has been lost, and walk with dignity in the image of God. His writing is not just theological—it’s pastoral, poetic, and prophetic.
Excellent post on both the Kings and the Queens. Many things are beyond my understanding, and this is one of them.