Solomon's Women

I have tremendous respect for the women in the Bible. The more I read and ponder, the more I can see them in me. They weren’t perfect, and neither am I. Just like the women of today, Rachel, Esther, and Hannah all had their challenges and trials, and all showed great faith in the choices they made and the lives they led.


This post, however, isn’t about one of the major players. It’s about “nobodies,” the 1,000 women who were King Solomon’s wives or concubines. As I go about my daily life, I often stop and think about how much freedom I have…how much “everything” I have.

• I can pretty much come and go whenever I want to. Could these women leave the palace grounds, or were their lives restricted to the royal residence?

• I have my own home that I can decorate any way that I choose, even if it means having canary yellow walls and cobalt blue leather furniture. Did these women even have their own rooms?

• I have three wonderful children and six grandchildren. Did these women have children? Were they allowed to raise them, or was it sort of a communal project?

• When the wives and concubines became older, were they “dismissed” and never summoned into the king’s presence? Did Solomon provide a pension of sorts for his older wives?

• I have a career that continues to bring a lot of satisfaction, fulfillment, and even fun into my life. Although teaching gets stressful and taxing at times, the positives far outnumber the negatives. What did these 1,000 women do all day every day??? Could they even read?

I’m thankful that I was born in America, the best nation on Earth, during the latter part of the 19th century after so many courageous women had paved the way for me to have an easier, more fulfilling life. Had I been born even 100 years earlier, I think I might have stomped around angry and frustrated and powerless. Had I been one of Solomon’s chosen women, I think I would have shriveled up and died.

Which is Harder?

Time is short this morning since my to-do list  is rather lengthy. Yes, even on MLK day, there are things to accomplish. True, the items are walking on the beach, reading my Kindle, and joining one of my daughters for lunch, and while those activities aren't exactly the same as "barges to load and bales to lift," they’re of great importance to me. But I digress.

At church yesterday, we were discussing sacrifice, and of course several Bible stories were included as examples. Time prohibits the discussion of all of them, so I’m including three of the primary ones.
First is the story of Abraham’s willingness to kill his beloved son Isaac. Remember, he and Sarah were advanced in years when this child entered their lives. Abraham was 100! You know his heart was hurting all the way to Mount Moriah where he finally tied his son down, ready to do what God had bidden. At the last moment, an angel intervened, and Isaac's life was spared. I’ve often wondered if Sarah knew where her husband and only son were heading when they left the homestead that morning.

Then there was the story of the rich young ruler who wanted to follow Christ. He was apparently a good man who followed the commandments. However, when Christ told him that he’d have to give up everything that he owned, he couldn’t do it. Could you??? I’m not even rich, and I don’t think I could do it. I mean, everything????

And finally there’s the story of the widow’s mite. She literally gave everything she had. What faith! What trust she had to sacrifice everything for the Lord. While I’ve always admired her sacrifice, I must admit that I’ve also felt a bit uneasy with the story, primarily because I don’t think I could do it. I don’t think I could give up everything.

In two of the three stories, the principal characters were willing to sacrifice BIG TIME. In the other, the rich ruler was willing to live a life of integrity but he simply could not give up his material possessions. While we were all pondering Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac, someone brought up the question of whether it was harder for a rich person to sacrifice everything than for a poor person (like the widow). I voted yes, but several people disagreed. They felt it would be far more difficult for a poor person since she had so little to begin with.

I’m not trying to settle an argument. There are no right and wrong answers. Both stories are in the Bible, and both are given as illustrations of sacrifice and commitment. It’s been my experience that people who have fewer material possession are often more humble. They seek God’s guidance and inspiration in their daily lives and realize that without Him, they’re sunk. At the same time, many wealthy people forget the sources of their many blessings and think they did it all themselves.

Yes, the above are both overgeneralizations. I’m just wondering what you think. Is it harder for a poor person or a rich person to sacrifice all he or she has? And while we’re on the subject, is sacrificing everything what God expects or is He happy with 10 percent?

Why Phyllis?

I think Dorothea and I had just had lunch at Nacho Hippo at Market Commons Friday when I got an unsettling message from Connie informing me that Phyllis was in ICU in our local hospital. Immediately, my mind conjured up an image of a beautiful woman with long, wavy blond hair and one of the sweetest faces I’ve ever seen. In recent years, she’s been struck with the BIG C, and as a result of the super strong meds, she lost her lovely tresses. I LOVED the way she looked when wearing her short strawberry blond wig, and I told her so on more than one occasion.


“You look so chic,” I’d said to her. “Plus, I can really see just how pretty your face is.”

She conquered the deadly disease, only to have it return with a vengeance, this time in her bones. Over the past several months, I’d seen her health deteriorate until finally she came to church using oxygen and sitting in a wheelchair. She was quieter, and even more serene than she had been prior to becoming sick. She seemed watchful, waiting. I admired her strength and began to feel concern for her two young children.

Saturday morning when I checked my messages on FB, the first was one from Connie informing me that Phyllis had passed away. Incredulous, I tried my best to keep the thought at bay. All day Saturday, I did entirely self-indulgent things with my family to bring in the new year, things like shopping, movie viewing, and dining out, and yet throughout the day, visions of Phyllis entered my mind. One in particular kept coming back, unbidden and a little disturbing. It was the last time I taught in Relief Society, two short weeks ago, and she sat to my right on the front row. She didn’t say anything that day, just listened intently.

Sunday morning, I opted to forgo that one last family get-together and decided to go to the beach instead. Sure hope my Christian friends don’t judge me for this, especially since the last lesson I taught was on keeping the Sabbath holy. I walked on the foggy beach for an hour and a half, and in that time I saw two horses, six dogs, 312 sea birds, and about eight people….and I listened to music on my iPod, especially hymns.

As I walked, I kept asking how this could happen to such as fine person as Phyllis. I actually got some answers, Folks. As I listened to “Where Can I Turn for Peace?” I remembered a story that Phyllis once told. She had received some disturbing family news and had passed a sleepless night. A master gardener, she arose early and went to her garden to work. She worked amongst her plants, and while pondering the news and praying for peace, she began to think, “Things will be fine. Everything will work out.” Remembering that story brought some solace.

Still, I couldn’t get her off of my mind. I just couldn’t understand how such a wonderful wife and mother could be taken from her family. Then I thought, “You can’t understand because you’re Jayne, not God. He has His reasons and is still in control here.” At that moment, a couple of verses from Isaiah came to mind, the ones about His ways and thoughts being higher than ours. It’s in Chapter 55, Verse 9: “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

Everyone who knew Phyllis will miss her. At the same time, whenever I see her husband and children, remembering where she sought solace will bring some comfort. Plus, the fact that our ways are not God’s ways will bring understanding.