five-minute friday: she
On Fridays, a bunch of brave writers gather over at Lisa-Jo Baker's blog, to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. You can check out her blog for info on how it works and then consider giving it a go yourself! Five minutes. No self-editing. Just real stuff. So here I am for this week's post, writing on she. ..............................
She is clothed with strength and dignity, she laughs at the days to come.
For me, this is my precious grandmother Rosemary. I see this woman thoroughly clothed with strength and dignity. For most of my growing up, I was a little intimidated by her. Go ahead, cousins. You can admit it. Grandma can be super intense. I watched her manage her household well, craft her home wisely, and care for her grandchildren - each one of us feeling favorited. This is a gift. I want to be the kind of woman who makes everyone feel like they're my favorite.
My grandmother does this. She gives and gives. She is caring and tender, but immeasurably strong. I know this because in recent years, she has shared bits and pieces of her story with me. Her losses. Her nights. Her heart wounds. When I lost the twins a few years ago, she sat with me in the ER and looked me in the eyes and told me it would be okay. Not because she knew I would keep the babies (I wouldn't), not because it would be painless (it sure wasn't), but because she herself has walked through the valleys and has seen the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
My grandmother has suffered great loss. This summer, for the first time, I asked her about it. We talked. I asked her, "Do you think women my age...my generation...do you think we feel things too much? As in, do you think grief and loss startle us & shake us?" She nodded thoughtfully. My grandmother, who lost a little brother, suffered the deaths of two of her children as newborns, experienced miscarriage once that I know of...whose husband went to war while she was mothering little ones, whose heart has seen very hard days...she said these things very kindly and we spoke of sorrows and losses and the great faith required in order to walk through them with grace.
She would say that it was often desperation. "Like Peter in John 6:68 - 'Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of life.'" But whatever drove her to confession, she confessed. She is clothed with strength and dignity and I am grateful for a heritage of faith, a legacy of grace, for this strong woman who chose to believe that God was enough when things seemed lost.