A Woman of Valor

Well, well, well. If I had just went so far as to open my Blogger account, I would have seen that I had some half written posts already in my queue. I wrote this months and months ago, and I really needed to read it again. So Imma gonna go ahead and post it so I can find it again the next time I need it.

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My friend Melody posted an article on Facebook that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

There's a lot of other stuff going on in the article and it takes a while to get to the point, so here's what I'm talking about:

Why You Don't Need Pinterest to be a Proverbs 31 Woman

Okay, I’ll admit it.  I never loved the Proverbs 31 Woman.

Actually, that may be an understatement. Truth be told, I secretly hated her.

The subject of a twenty-two line acrostic poem found in the last chapter of the book of Proverbs, the “wife of noble character” is cited at nearly every Christian women’s conference as the ideal to which all godly women must strive. The bad news for the domestically challenged among us is that the life of the Proverbs 31 woman is like a Pinterest board come to life: She rises before dawn each day, provides exotic food for her children, runs a profitable textile business, invests in real estate, cares for the poor, spends hours at the loom making clothes and coverings for her bed, and crafts holiday wreaths out of coffee filters. (Okay, so that last one was straight from Pinterest, but you get the idea.)

Growing up in the Church, I sat through many a sermon explaining how domestic exploits like these represented the essence of true womanhood, and over time, I began to see myself as less-than, falling short of God’s ideal each time I turned to Sara Lee for dessert or called my mom to help me hem my own slacks.

So when I decided to commit one year of my life to studying (and at times, practicing) everything the Bible says about women as part of my “Year of Biblical Womanhood,” I knew I’d have to come face-to-face with the Proverbs 31 Woman in a way I hadn’t before.

I started by attempting to turn the poem into a to-do list, which resulted in a 16-item list that included everything from lifting weights each morning (“she girds herself with strength and makes her arms strong”), to making a purple dress to wear (“she makes coverings for herself; her clothing is fine linen and purple”), to knitting scarves for my husband (“when it snows, she has no fear for her household, for all of them are clothed in scarlet”), to making a homemade sign and literally praising my husband at the city gate (“her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land”).

I had a bit of fun with that last one, but the rest proved exhausting. Within a few weeks, I’d started and unraveled at least two scarves, broken the old second-hand sewing machine I’d dug out of my closet, cursed at the picture of Martha Stewart smiling glibly from the cover of my cookbook, and embarrassed myself at Hobby Lobby by crying in the fabric aisle.

Finally, I consulted Ahava, an Orthodox Jewish woman I had befriended during the project.

“So do Jewish women struggle with this passage as much as Christian women?” I asked.

Ahava seemed a bit bewildered.

“Not at all!” she said. “In my culture, Proverbs 31 is a blessing.”

Ahava repeated a finding I’d discovered in my research, that the first line of the Proverbs 31 poem—“a virtuous woman who can find?”—is best translated, “a woman of valor who can find?” In fact, the structure and diction employed in the poem closely resembles that of a heroic poem celebrating the exploits of a warrior.

“I get called an eshet chayil (woman of valor) all the time,” Ahava explained. “Make your own challah instead of buying? Eshet chayil! Work to earn some extra money for the family? Eshet chayil! Get promoted at your work?  Eshet chayil! Make balloon animals for the kids at a party? Eshet chayil! Every week at the Sabbath table, my husband sings the Proverbs 31 poem to me. It’s special because I know that no matter what I do or don’t do, he praises me for blessing the family with my energy and creativity. All women can do that in their own way. I bet you do as well.”

I looked into this, and sure enough, in Jewish culture it is not the women who memorize Proverbs 31, but the men. Husband commit each line of the poem to memory, so they can recite it to their wives at the Sabbath meal, usually in a song. (The astute reader will notice that the only actual instruction found in the entire poem is that a husband celebrate his wife for “all her hands have done.”) The praise is meant to be unconditional.

But the blessing goes beyond the family. Ahava explained that her Jewish friends cheer one another on with the blessing, celebrating everything from promotions, to pregnancies, to acts of mercy and justice, to battles with cancer with a hearty “eshet chayil!”—woman of valor.

The biblical heroine Ruth is called an “eshet chayil,” in fact. And she is called that at a time when her life looked nothing like the life of the Proverbs 31 woman, when she was a poor, childless, widow, who, far from exchanging fine linens with the merchants, spent her days gleaning leftover grain from the fields.

“All the people of my town know that you are a woman of noble character (eshet chayil),” Boaz says to her.

I liked it.

No, I loved it.

So I set aside my to-do list and began using Proverbs 31 as it was meant to be used—not as yet another impossible standard by which to measure our failures, but as a celebration of what we’ve already accomplished as women of valor.  When my friend Tiffany’s pharmacy aced its accreditation, I congratulated her with “eshet chayil!” When my sister beat out about a million applicants for the job she wanted in North Carolina, I called her up and shouted “woman of valor!” When my mom overcame breast cancer, I made a card that said “eshet chayil” on the front.  When I learned that three women had won the Nobel Peace Prize, I shared the new with my readers in a blog post entitled, “Meet Three Women of Valor.”

As I saw how powerful and affirming this ancient blessing could be, I decided it was time for Christian women to take back Proverbs 31. Somewhere along the way, we surrendered it to the same people who invented airbrushing and Auto-Tune. We abandoned the meaning of the poem by focusing on the specifics, and it became just another impossible standard by which to measure our failures. We turned an anthem into an assignment, a poem into a job description.

But according to Ahava, the woman described in Proverbs 31 is not some ideal that exists out there; she is present in each one of us when we do even the smallest things with valor.

And that’s worth celebrating…with or without a Pinterest board.

Seriously, this totally made my week and has changed my perspective so much. I've always hated the Proverbs 31 woman too. And I've hated myself for hating her. I can't tell you how many times I've mentally castigated myself with the Proverbs 31 Woman.

And while I'm sure that at some point I was reminded that Christ has already saved me from having to fulfill the law, I'm pretty sure all I've really heard was that through Christ, I should have the strength to do all of this. Probably some of my more mature sisters have had a better perspective, but I must admit, it has always made me feel guilty for all of my shortcomings.

After telling all of my friends about this article, I started poking around to find out if it is actually true that Jewish women have this take on the passage. Heh. Yep, looks like they do.

In my readings, I learned that one tradition holds that Solomon based the acrostic on Abraham's eulogy for Sarah. And I realized, I've always pictured the Proverbs 31 woman as doing everything in the poem in one day...you know, one of those Type As who needs five hours of sleep and seems to be talented at everything and can't sit still.

When I think of it as a eulogy, it seems a little more palatable. For a while, my husband wasn't working, and I brought home the bacon (while telling myself that I should be frying it up in a pan more often). I now cook, clean, and make sure my family is well clothed (but I often think that the Prov 31 woman would also be running a home business).

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Okay, this is present-day me again. That was as far as I got. But I can tell you that I went around for weeks patting myself on the back for being a woman of valor, which is about 180 degrees from my usual self judgment.

As I read this again, part of what her Jewish friend said to her really jumped out at me:

"I know that no matter what I do or don’t do, he praises me for blessing the family with my energy and creativity. All women can do that in their own way. I bet you do as well."

I was recently on a Myers Brigg personality type research binge trying to answer the question of why I'm not the wife and mother that I (want to be? think I should be? feel like my husband wants me to be?), and there is something so soul soothing about thinking that you are in fact blessing your family with your own type of energy and creativity. But more on that in another post.

Hello Blog

Over the summer I was blessed to have a neighborhood girl come watch the kids once a week for a few hours during the day so that I could have some "me" time. It was nice, but it didn't Restore My Soul in any sort of way deserving of improper capitalization.

Then Jen from Conversion Diary wrote this post about being a mental neat freak. This is hands down my favorite blog these days. I have no idea how she so consistently turns out great posts, but more than that, it's as if she lives in my brain and sends me messages about my life through the internet. I know. Spooky.

I totally could have written that post if, you know, I was smarter and had more clarity, so it's nice that she delivers these missives to my Feedly account. Anyway, ever since I read that I realized that I've been neglecting writing, which is one of the few things that helps me...let's say Cope with Life (improper caps totally deserved here).

But I've found it so difficult to get started. I told myself in November I would start writing every day. Not a novel or anything that ambitious, but just get my thoughts out. I started a list of blog topics. And I thought about them. And I did not write.

I'm here now though, and I'm going to try that "throw up on the page" (screen?) thing and see if I can...

As I was sitting here pondering how to conclude this post, my computer shut down and restarted again. Thank goodness Blogger does the auto saves these days.

I'm just going to hit publish before I think better of it.

A Thousand Words

First, let me just say that Kona is still alive, and he's fine.

I kept forgetting to begin with that when telling this story, and it causes a lot of stress for people.

This is the story of our family picture.

It begins a year ago when my grandpa said that he'd like to get the whole family together for an updated family portrait. Despite having a small baby and a toddler at the time, I decided that I needed to be the one to organize an 16 person/four generation photoshoot. I researched area photographers, reviewed portfolios, sent out inquiries, coordinated schedules (or so I thought), created an inspirational Pinterest board, decided on a color/style scheme and composed an email detailing such scheme that I then followed up on with personal, harassing phone calls to various family members about their wardrobe choices.

We all showed up on a Saturday afternoon at the appointed location, primped and ready for our close-up...aaand there was no photographer. We'd had a miscommunication, and they had us scheduled for Sunday afternoon.

I was pretty devastated.

My husband sprung into action and collected cameras and organized an impromptu photoshoot using timers and a makeshift tripod. He also had to talk to the photographers when they got my 20 messages asking where they were and called me back because I was too upset.

We decided we'd try again in the spring, but apparently I needed a whole year to recover.

This month I decided that it was time, assembled the troops once again, agreed to meet at the same park, and triple checked the date.


Half of the family was running late, so we started in with pictures of the family branches that were present. After our family's little shoot, while waiting for everyone else, my husband was playing fetch with our dog. As we have done a million times.

I'm standing off to the side trying to get a hold of people to find out when they'll arrive when I hear shouting and look over to see my husband--in his carefully selected picture clothes--"wrestling" our dog on the ground.

Trying to keep my language clean for the kids, I asked what the heck he could possibly be doing.

My husband had sent a fast, low (meant to go long) throw to get Kona to run after it, but Kona intercepted the ball at close range and the ball went too far back in his mouth and lodged in his throat.

The ball was the size of a tennis ball but made of hard, thick rubber. We bought it because it floats and stands up to Kona's chewing, but it's heavier than we'd like it to be. 

When he realized Kona couldn't get the ball out of his throat, he ran over to help him, but it was absolutely stuck. The doggy Heimlich (I'm not kidding) wasn't working.

I did not have the capacity at this point to deal with the thought of my dog keeling over...I was convinced that he was going to upchuck the stupid ball any second just like he's done with athletic socks, an unfurled spool of ribbon, and various other things over the years. I've always called him a junkyard dog because I'm pretty sure he could eat or survive anything.

But as the seconds ticked by, it became clear that he was in trouble. My husband scooped him up and threw him in the back of our car, and the photographers assistant jumped in to help direct him to the nearest emergency vet.

And then the rest of my family arrived.

When they got Kona to the clinic, he was passed out and his breathing was shallow. They ran him in and his neck was shaved in preparation for a tracheotomy, but they managed to pull the ball out with some sort of clamp without having to put him under or actually traching him. And when they let my husband back in the room, Kona wagged his tail.

They kept him the rest of the day for observation and gave him a sedative to help him rest and an anti-inflammatory to keep his throat from swelling up.

My husband and the assistant came back, and we finished up the pictures.

Once that was done, my husband went back to check on Kona before going to get his own prescription for his swelling hand which he had snagged on Kona's teeth while trying to get the ball out.

Kona was back to normal by evening with a shaved throat and a bandage where they'd given him an IV as souvenirs. Also, we got the ball back (!).

And the pictures look great.

I suppose all's well that ends well, but you won't catch me organizing any large photoshoots any time soon.

Makes you wonder what kinds of stories photographers collect.

Thrifty

I have fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with "thrifting."

Or, rather, shopping at Goodwill. I'm not sure I'm hip enough to say that I "go thrifting."

It started when I found out that I was having a girl (after having a boy), and I was contemplating how to afford another entirely new wardrobe (we rarely get hand-me-downs).  My first trip was to a small store in a regular neighborhood and there wasn't a whole lot, and what was there was hard to find and I almost threw in the towel and left, but when they rang me up I was amazed to see that the total was about $30 for around 20 items. It's hard to beat that even on a great Old Navy sale day.

A recent haul: Janie and Jack jeans for my son (like new) for $3.79. Also, I took a chance on some $3.50 shoes for my daughter...the size was European (I don't know why I didn't whip out my phone and figure out the size and brand--I guess I was just in a gambling mood for the price of a latte) but eyeballing them, they looked about right, and they seemed very well made. I looked them up when I got home; I didn't recognize the brand since I don't usually bother checking out $80 kids shoes. And the size was perfect. BAM.

The thrill of finding cute things that I would never pay retail for (but will gladly fork out pennies on the dollar for) probably would have been enough to keep me coming back. But wait! There's more!

Walking through the racks of clothes that have been cast off--nice clothes with tags still on, even clothes that are still current--I started to feel the weight of all of this consumption. I started to think about how so many people would prize these things we just toss away. I started to think about the people working in the factories to make these things that we want so badly and then quickly consider junk. I started to think about the money that I spend at Target--not a ton of money, obviously; it's Target (though it does add up). But I'll spend $10, $20 on something cute and here's its equivalent for $3, $5.

The clincher is the people who work there. They've clearly seen some...stuff in their lives. The day I bought a vintage globe, a Cozy Coupe, a $80 Educo dollhouse for $8, and a walker/scoot toy (while I had both kids with me), they called someone to help the looter me out to my car. The guy who helped me appeared to have done some hard drugs in the past, but he was so nice and eager to help. And I would much rather my money go toward programs that help people get legitimate work than just be another drop in the bucket for some of the big brands--many of which use some shady business practices in order to keep their stuff cheap enough for us to buy frivolously.

An added benefit (aside from my bleeding heart rationale) is that often I find stores are using lower quality fabrics and sewing to keep costs down (I'm looking at you, Target, Old Navy, Gap) and after you wash them once or twice you have seams opening up, pilling, ruffles that go wonky (mama does NOT iron play clothes), etc., and buying secondhand allows you to see how the clothes will wear.

Love it. Can't say enough good things about it.

Will probably write more about it.

You are on the edge of your seat, yes?

Of course you are.

Litany of Humility

At one point in my life, I thought that memorized, repeated prayers did not have as much meaning as a "real" (as in extemporaneous) prayer. But I've now come to love common prayer. It's a blessing to be able to sink into the carefully crafted words that have been uttered by many before me that so often express the things my heart knows even if my head wasn't ready to confess them.

A dear friend recommended the (Roman Catholic) Litany of Humility to me during a conversation about my struggles with motherhood, but really lifelong struggles that are just made more apparent as I endeavor to somehow lead by example.

I probably need to set a timer and just say it every 30 minutes. It's a good one.

O Jesus! meek and humble of heart, Hear me.

From the desire of being esteemed, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being loved, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being extolled, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being honored, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being praised, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being preferred to others, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being consulted, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the desire of being approved, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being humiliated, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being despised, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of suffering rebukes, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being calumniated, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being forgotten, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being ridiculed, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being wronged, Deliver me, Jesus.

From the fear of being suspected, Deliver me, Jesus.

That others may be loved more than I, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That others may be esteemed more than I, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That, in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That others may be chosen and I set aside, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That others may be praised and I unnoticed, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That others may be preferred to me in everything, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

That others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

Yes, grant me the grace to desire it.

Your Exotic Life

When I was living in Melbourne, I met another American who'd spent some time in the San Francisco Bay Area. We got to chatting, and she asked if I'd lived in San Jose proper and a nearby Aussie sighed wistfully. "San Jose," she repeated dreamily. "It sounds so exotic."


Recently another Australian friend came through our area, and I can't tell you how much good it did my soul just to feed off of her youthful enthusiasm. It was her first time abroad, and she took me back to my first time traveling. I went to Italy. I was convinced the plane was going to crash because that was far more imaginable than the thought of me--ME traipsing around the Colosseum for heaven's sake!

My favorite thing about traveling is how small it makes me feel. The feeling that you're just a blip in history and a speck on this globe even in your own time...it's such a healthy smack upside the head to my worrywart, self-absorbed nature. But then there's also the novelty--somebody else's everyday seems so magical. Laundry hanging off clotheslines in an alley that echoes with the sounds of Italian daytime television.

Occasionally when I lived in San Francisco I'd nearly run over a tourist as I rushed off the bus to work, and my feeling of exasperation would wash away when I'd see their upturned faces, that feeling of smallness clearly written on them. And I would look up and around and remember.

But San Jose...San Jose is not exotic. Still, as I drove my young friend around and she exclaimed over the postman, and the street signs, and the American houses, the scales fell from my eyes for a moment and I saw the beauty of my everyday.

Sometimes I just need to remind myself to look up and feel small.

How I Fired My Housecleaners and Regained My Sanity

Reposting this from the old blog because it was a favorite and because I've got a follow-up post and another tangential post in mind...

I'm totally ahead of myself on this one. Totally smug. Clearly going to all fall apart as soon as I hit publish.

But I wanted you to know that I'm feeling better about mothering and housewifery in general (though I'm sure more valleys are on the way). And it all started when my housecleaners stood me up a couple of weeks ago.

I'd been planning my pathetic life around the housecleaners. They came every other week, and I tried to avoid having people over on the weeks that they didn't come. Because while two weeks is too long to go between cleaning sessions in this house...well, I did. I mean I did the dishes and wiped counters, but nothing that I considered yucky. Or inconvenient.

I'm not one of those fabulous women (bless their hearts) who say things like "I just can't rest knowing that the kitchen is a mess."

There are many times I cannot rest...I've had insomnia since I was a kid. But things that keep me up are worries that I made a mistake at work and will be fired and eventually end up homeless. Or regrets about how I phrased something I said to someone. Or wondering whether awesomesauce/awesome sauce is one word or two. But dishes? Dishes actually make me tired.

Anyway, the day I was stood up, in a fit of fury, I cleaned the kitchen. And while I worked, I cooked up a plan (heh, see what I did there). Having our babysitter come for four hours would be $20 less than the cleaning fee, and if I could manage to keep up the house better and finish cleaning in less than four hours, I might have some time left over to just BE.

And suddenly cleaning seemed to be a means to an end. An end that I liked (because the whole clean house as an end just doesn't completely do it for me). So I set up some morning and evening routines, and THEY WORK, y'all.

It's really amazing how little time it takes me to get through my list, and yet how magically clean the house stays when I do my list. And now I'm keeping the house clean on my own, and I somehow seem to have more time. Time to do things with the kids without feeling like I'm failing in the other part of my job description. And people can drop by any time and I'm not furtively shoving a dirty pot into the oven.

And I realize most people already do these things and can't believe there are people like me who are late to this party, but there it is. I'd plugged the wrong directions into my GPS, but I think I'm on my way now and I'm hoping you have one margarita left for me.

For those of you who are wondering what all this list entails, here ya go:

Morning Routine

Song, Ladybug, Prayer

Get Dressed

Unload Dishwasher

Cook and Eat Breakfast

Clean Up Dishes, Feed Kona

Start Laundry

Make Bed

 

Evening Routine

Dinner (6:15)

Clean Up All Dishes & Toys (6:45)

Bath Time (7:00)

Bible Reading (7:30)

Kids' Bedtime Routine (7:45)

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Start Dishwasher

Wipe Counters & Table

Swiffer Floor

Yup, pretty basic. But when I'm feeling overwhelmed by the house after we've hosted a big group or something, I just make sure I do the checklist and after one morning and one evening, things are usually back to normal.

Also, when I'm running on little sleep and feel like I should get a break, I tell myself I MUST do the things on my list and then I can...have another cup of coffee because there are no breaks in motherhood, sucka!

There are a few more things I do during the day: I fold that load of laundry. I wipe down the bathtub as I'm setting up for bath time each evening. We're in the bathroom a lot lately since we're potty training, so at some point each day I wipe the counter in there and several times a day I wipe up the toilet or else it would look like it belongs in a frat house. And I vacuum once a week. But do you know what the great thing is about vacuuming? You can't hear the kids whining! I fire it up when Gus is asking to watch TV.

So I share this purely in a spirit of sharing, and not in a "you should do this" kind of way, because what do I know of your life? I like to hear what's working for other people, but lately I've noticed a trend of bloggers who want to position themselves as experts on various things, but hold on...that's a rant for another post. Let's just say that I'm not trying to brag here; just mentioning that I feel like I've gone from bad to sort of okay. And that's a Good Thing. Only I just typoed "God Thing" which is probably more accurate.

Besos, kittens.