She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.
- Proverbs 31:25
Can I be honest? This verse has always annoyed me. I mean, I pretended to like it like all good christian girls should, but it just sounds so…pretty, like a dainty pink bow or glitter nail polish. It’s sweet and nice; not exactly words a girl wants to be described as. I suppose this verse has been a nail on my mental chalkboard because I had interpreted it as a woman only being as good as her bright smile and carefree, almost simple-minded, laugh. Aw, how cute.
Today, I’m not so sure about my judgement. I think I finally saw this verse without its hair done and makeup on. I finally read it for the raw reality that it is.
Today was my Aunt Gail’s 80th birthday. We gathered and celebrated her with a grand “surprise” from behind the kitchen counter, and she even had a flashy yard card display for the entire neighborhood to ogle. It was during the pre-feast prayer when her daughter, my cousin, said a few words that nudged me. Not all women are like this, I realized. The lightbulb flickered in my heart.
“Thank you for letting her teach us about Jesus, which is why we’re here today.”
A line spoken so simply as she opened the prayer pouring out her thanks for her wonderful mom. I enjoyed the laughs, the homemade food and the decadent cupcakes, but when I got home, the nudge persisted like a headstrong child.
I gulped a lumpy ball of shame as I realized I had never acknowledged the clothes of strength and dignity the women in my family had been wearing, some for 80 years now. I’m not talking about high-powered career women, sporting pencil skirts and taking names in a conference room, or women who remained single for life because no man could tame them or even some image of a female who snaps back with harsh words to show her status.
I’m talking about my grandma, who invested in two little girls in silky nightgowns on a bed during a sleepover, bowing heads with tightly-closed eyes listening to her pray; not prayers watered down for children, but powerful, spirit-filled, long (and yes, as kids we usually agreed they were much too long) prayers that naturally instilled in us how to talk to our maker.
I’m talking about my mom who had to pick up the phone and tell her college-age kids that she had cancer, and then ten years later was forced to break the sad news that it had returned and she’d need an entire lobe of her diseased lung removed before enduring months of chemotherapy. And then, another ten years later getting battered with the news that a brand-new type of cancer had emerged requiring surgery and radiation. I can remember specific words of faith she uttered during each of these three scenarios, all pointing to the God she trusted to get her through.
I’m talking about my aunt caring for her husband who was diagnosed with ALS. The years she kept her faith grounded in the one whom her mom, my grandma, had so naturally pointed her to. My other aunt, who just celebrated 80 years of life, attending school to become a Registered Nurse while raising kids and then working until her body told her it was time to stop. My other aunt, being the firm rock as her husband suffered from Parkinson’s after they had lost a daughter from a disgusting cancer that spread and took a life far too young. These four sisters endured trials that life doesn’t throw at many, yet I’ve only known their faith in God to grow.
“How can a loving God allow bad things to happen?” I hear so many say. I empathize with the question, I do, I just have been fortunate to grow up around women who never needed to ask such a thing. Even under the most pressing circumstances they understood the truth.
I gaze my eyes on this group of women and realize the gravity of that prayer, “Thank you for letting her teach us about Jesus.” Because now, as the next generation walks through life on this shaky ground we call earth, I realize what was so naturally instilled in me isn’t the case for all. As the daughters, granddaughters and great-granddaughters of these women step into purposes and callings, I see the pattern. Just between my sister and I, an unfair divorce and a potent cancer diagnosis only after serving as a missionary for years in another country. I don’t think either of us would have made it through unscathed without the memory of those nighttime prayers on grandma’s bed; the grandma who raised those four sisters who now carry on an eternal legacy.
So, as I sit here and weigh the verse that once felt so light and easy to hold, I now see that being clothed with strength and dignity is something I’ve witnessed my entire life. The women who may sign off emails with “have a blessed day” and send Bible verses in text messages and hang scripture on wooden plaques in their homes, you know, the things that spark eye rolls and she’s-just-from-a-different-generation type comments. Well, I know those women, and their faith isn’t sweet or pretty or even cute. It’s unshakeable.
I can only hope that the same words of thanks are bestowed upon me one day.
