The (Non)Pinterest Woman of Proverbs 31

"Strength and dignity are her clothing,

And she smiles at the future.

She opens her mouth in wisdom,

And the teaching of kindness is on her tongue."

Yesterday, I had the privilege of attending the funeral service of my 98-year-old grandmother.  (98 years, 2 months, and 28 days, to be precise.)  It was everything I expected from the celebration of such a long life, so well and faithfully lived.  But also, there was something unexpected, at least for me.  I heard, for what I believe to be the first time, one of the most famous passages of the Bible, used for its original intent.

This might not seem so noteworthy to you.  But as someone who was born and raised in the church, who holds an actual college degree in "Bible", who has spent the last 35 years hearing the Bible preached and taught and studied and written about in every imaginable context, it was remarkable.

I love the work of blogger and writer Rachel Held Evans, and one of my favorite pieces of hers is entitled 3 Things You Might Not Know About Proverbs 31.  In it, she writes about how Proverbs 31, rather than being intended as a prescription for becoming "God's perfect woman", is meant as a hymn of praise to women, for lives lived with courage, strength and integrity--women of valor--and its intended audience is men.  Rachel tells how, in the Jewish community, it is the men who memorize Proverbs 31, who use it to praise and honor the women in their lives, for the things they have done, not the things they should do.

I have always loved this piece, and I believe it has changed, both for me and for many others, the way we view Proverbs 31.  Because, I confess, I had come to resent and--dare I say it--hate that Proverbs 31 woman.  I have often felt as though she is both the whip used to enforce my compliance to the image others have prescribed for me, and the icon used to shame me for my failure to do so.  I had become accustomed (and I don't believe I'm the only one) to mentally picturing her as some excessively modest, overly maternal, rigidly conservative, super-pious, glorified Pinterest mom.  (Wait--did I leave out homeschooling?)  But Rachel connects the dots between the woman of Proverbs 31 and the only other "woman of valor" mentioned in the Old Testament, Ruth.  I have written in an earlier post about my affection for the story of Ruth and Boaz, so this comparison for me was an eye-opener.  Ruth, Rachel writes, "is identified as a woman of valor, not because she checked off some Proverbs 31 to-do list by getting married, keeping a clean house and producing children, but because she lived her life with incredible bravery, wisdom, and strength."  She talks about how she and her friends cheer each other for their own personal and varied daily acts of courage with the salutation "eshet chayil!", the Hebrew for "woman of valor", because "it is not our roles that define us, but the integrity and bravery we bring to those roles".

Sitting in the service yesterday, hearing the words of Proverbs 31 read in exactly this way, something about these familiar words from Rachel finally clicked into place, more deeply than ever before, and I was able to see, not only that woman of Proverbs, but my own grandmother, in a fresh way.

Many people, in this last week since my grandmother's passing, have told me how they loved my stories of her.  This weekend was full of stories, new and old, some shared with others and some just privately recalled.  Many of them were funny and full of the joy she always exuded in even the smallest ways.  Many were stories of how, as a teacher by nature and not only by profession, she shaped the lives of others.  And some were simply the familiar stories of her life, with its remarkable landmarks and accomplishments.  I have never thought of Grandma as a Proverbs 31 woman, likely because my own memories of her are so different than the image of that woman that has always been portrayed to me.  The stories told about her by others were not of a perfect wife, a flawless mother, a domestic diva--nor are these my own recollections.  

I remember instead, baking a cake with Grandma in the kitchen while she told me a story, one she no doubt invented, about a king with a young son who came of marriageable age, and all the ladies of the kingdom were brought to the castle and told to bake cakes to see who would become the young prince's bride.  The poor peasant girl, unlike the fine ladies, was not afraid to get her hands dirty by wiping out every drop of egg from the eggshells, and was willing to work hard by beating her cake batter until it was light and fluffy, and was careful not to waste a thing by scraping every bit of batter from the bowl, and so, predictably, her cake was the best, and she married the prince--a story which summed up the virtues of Grandma's world.  I remember, a bit older, swinging with Grandma on her porch swing on a sweet, late-summer afternoon, watching the birds swoop and dive through the trees in her yard, while she told me that all of our words are like that, like little birds that fly from our lips, and once we have released them, no matter how we might want to, we can never call them back--a much harder lesson that I still struggle to master every single day.  I remember her telling, and often, how as a new bride, she produced a batch of biscuits so bad that, in her shame, she took them outside and buried them, and when the dog dug them up two weeks later, even he would not eat any.  I remember the way she left all the other guests at my bridal shower in a smoking trail of dust on every. single. game. with her quick wit and amazing recall.  I remember her advice for a long and happy marriage, which she told me when I called to congratulate her on her 71st wedding anniversary: "You just have to love 'em and respect 'em, even when you just want to kick 'em."  I remember, on what turned out to be our last visit, as we hugged goodbye, after we each said "I love you", that her final words to me in this life were, "You're doing a good job".  Pinterest mom?  No.  But a woman of valor, this amazing person who survived the loss of her mother at age 11, who became the woman of the house and surrogate parent to seven younger siblings by age 12, who attended college at age 60, who gave her life to teaching for 36 years and in faithful marriage to my grandfather for 73?  Absolutely.  Now that's a Proverbs 31 woman.

I think the favorite new story I heard about Grandma this weekend was told by the former student of hers who spoke at her funeral service.  He and Grandma had a running joke that dated back to the year she filled a one-month emergency vacancy for their district's eighth-grade classroom position.  He was in her class for that one month, and all the talk was speculation about whether man would land on the moon.  Grandma, in a sentiment not uncommon at the time, told him that she believed God would never allow man to get to the moon.  After the outcome of this debate, they have often teased each other about that conversation over the years, mentioning the moon and their prospective trips there.  He told how Grandma would sometimes draw a picture of the moon inside his Christmas card.  Several weeks ago, he visited with her for the last time, and, as he was leaving, he said, "Well, Esther, you still haven't gone to the moon."  She replied, "Oh, I'm not going to stop at the moon, Kenny.  I'm going much farther."  Eshet chayil, Grandma.  :)

My Christmas Tradition

A while ago, in a group of friends, we somehow wandered onto the topic of everyone's personal movie kryptonite--you know, that movie that you've seen a million times, but you just can't help watching again anyway?  Even if it's already halfway over, or you were already on your way to bed, or you only turned on the TV to watch something else?  I know there are some movies like this that have their own almost cult following, like The Shawshank Redemption.  Or, in my dad's case, The Outlaw Josie Wales.  Everyone in the circle was sharing their own favorite.  Someone turned and asked me, "So Lisa, what's the movie you always watch whenever it's on?"  I answered immediately, without thinking, "That's easy.  Talladega Nights."  There was a silence.  Glances exchanged.  Then someone said, "Really??"

So maybe the Ballad of Ricky Bobby doesn't hold the same appeal for everyone as it does for me.  But at least at Christmas time, I ask you all to indulge me.  I won't try to write about it again.  But I will link to what I wrote about it last year.  Give Ricky Bobby a chance, folks--that's all I ask.

I Like to Think of Jesus

So This Is Christmas

Today at my workplace, we celebrated the first day of our Christmas event.  Our store will be open every day this week as a Christmas shop, with games, toys, decorations, gift wrap, and many other holiday items for customers, all at greatly reduced prices; so many fun things will happen, from candy cane hunts to visits from Santa.  We've been so excited for the last few weeks, planning it.  Hours of time and care have gone into every detail, working hard to create an event, an environment, where families can come and shop for Christmas in a way that is affordable, enjoyable, and uplifting.  It's a highly concentrated example of the effort and sacrifice our staff makes every day, the mission of working alongside families to offer support and encouragement while preserving dignity and empowerment. 

The doors opened this morning, a waiting crowd of customers came in, Christmas toys were purchased, candy canes were found, cookies were eaten, and all went as planned.  Well, almost all.  Also, in the festive chaos, with so many people moving through the building, someone went into a staff member's private office, dug into her purse, and stole her wallet.  Removed all the cash, and gift cards--tokens of love from her family and friends--and tossed the rest of her possessions like so much junk in our parking lot. 

Of course, there were other offenses also, such as switching price tags and swiping items from the donation area, all less egregious, less personal.  Less of a violation.  But honestly, even this event isn't that unusual or unexpected in our line of work.  As our executive director said to me when my new truck got keyed on my third day of working here, "Welcome to ministry at Salt & Light!"  But there is something about its happening as a part of the Christmas festivities that makes it seem so much more of an affront.  In a season that is intended to be about peace and goodwill, when it seems the whole world makes an extra effort to be kind and generous, it's a rude reminder of reality when we encounter the always-present (but temporarily forgotten) existence of greed, cruelty, or any other form of common human evil.

However, this is the nature of our work--laboring with our greatest strength, to the best of our ability, to make a better way for many others, some of whom will steal from us in a heartbeat as soon as our back is turned.  And somehow, I find it particularly appropriate that it happened today, during our fledgling celebration of Christmas.  Because, as I thought about it during the day, what better picture of the Christmas story?  It seemed to everyone who heard the story today such a shame, such a pity.  We all understood intuitively why it seemed so wrong that someone would choose to repay that way to one who had given so much for their benefit.  And yet, that is the story of Christmas.  While we find it so hard to continue to give selflessly in love to those who may repay with evil, Christmas is the story of the ultimate selfless gift, given to make a better way for so many, some of whom would participate in his actual killing, while all of us, through our very brokenness, shared in the responsibility for making it necessary.  It's writ large the same love, sacrifice, pain, and betrayal as the drama that played out on the small stage of my workplace today.  And while for those of us who minister here, events like the one of today are unexpected, the fate of that undeserved gift of long ago was always known.  Christmas is the story of the God who gave, knowing fully how he would be repaid.

Such is grace.  There is nothing more free, and nothing more costly.  May we continue to find the strength to give it in the same measure we have received.

Hourglass

A few days ago, I overheard a conversation at work.  Two people were talking in the break room, and one woman was describing a painful incident from her past, and how over time, things had become more and more distant and difficult between her and the other person involved.  She talked about how she felt even more hurt, more angry, as the situation wore on.  "Time doesn't make things better like people say," she said to her listener.  "It just makes things worse."

I wondered if she was right.  Conventional wisdom tells us that time heals.  Time gives everyone the chance to cool off, calm down, think again.  Time brings maturity, growth, and change.  However, we all know of situations in which, over time, resentments fester, bitterness grows, hurts deepen, distances widen, and hearts harden.  What makes the difference between a story where time brings healing, and one where time brings only more hurt?  I might be wrong, but I'd like to propose a theory--time does what we tell it to do.

If this is true, that makes how we use our time a rather heavy responsibility.  It seems that the way we choose to use our time will determine what that time does for us in return.  If we use it for things that promote growth, healing, reconciliation, then it will do what we ask.  But if we waste it, squander it, or use it badly, in ways that promote bitterness and hurt, then it will turn ugly, just as we have requested, recalcitrant and hostile, and bring us nothing but pain.  This idea reminds me forcibly of the bewildering story the Mad Hatter tells to Alice at his tea party, about why time will no longer do anything he asks, due to a badly-sung rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat.  ("He's murdering the time!" shouts the Queen, "Off with his head!")

Last week, I asked my 14-year-old, "So, how are you feeling with the holidays coming up?"  He replied, "I don't know.  I haven't thought about it.  Why?"  I said, "Well, this time last year, you were feeling a little stressed.  As though you didn't know what was going to happen."  (If you missed last year's version of this conversation, you can catch it here.)  He looked thoughtful for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Huh.  Well, I'm a different person this year."

And so he is.

To me, what does this mean about the way we are using our time, and what time is doing for us in return?

I believe it means we are defining our new normal.  We are making time to cook together, read together, camp out in the living room together.  We are making memories that we can hold to and cherish when things are rough, which they often are.  We are talking, talking, talking, about what to do, and what to do differently, when things go wrong.  We're going out to that special-release movie, or that once-in-a-lifetime concert, because life is too short, and our time together will pass so quickly.  We're tackling projects that are out of our comfort zone, building our team--sharing responsibility for the things we share ownership for.  And we have every intention of continuing.  We will gather on a Sunday with friends we love, and be just as happy and thankful as on that arbitrary Thursday designated by the calendar, on which we will celebrate together with extended family and apart from each other.  We will start new traditions.  We will continue to learn to be the family we want to create.  We will look to the future with hope and expectation.

We're using our time well.  And time is doing oh, so much for us in return.  We're all different people this year, I think.