Special Affinities

Hearing giggles and muffled conversation, I had to go and check things out for myself. What was going on? When I walked into the room, I spied my daughter Elizabeth carefully polishing her nieces’ tiny toenails. Excited at their fuchsia colored nails, they were sitting perfectly still while Elizabeth worked her magic. Brooke and Emma both adore their aunt, but it seems to me that there’s a special bond between Elizabeth and Emma Elizabeth. Is it because of their names? No, I don’t think so. Is it because they’re both girlie girls? No, I think it’s deeper than that, something more mystifying.


One of the topics studied by social psychologists is the mysterious attraction that exists between individuals. For reasons beyond my comprehension, there’s often an affinity between two people that not even psychology can explain. Sometimes they’re related, and sometimes they’re not. My sister-in-law Becky shares no DNA with my daughter Elizabeth, and yet the two of them seem connected in a special way. My niece Sarah Beth and I are kindred spirits. It could be our love of fashion, art, and all things a little offbeat. Then there are friends, those people who waltz into our lives and somehow connect with us in a way that the other thousands of people in our community and workplace didn’t or couldn’t.

Pondering these relationships gives me a tiny bit more insight into Mary, the mother of Christ, and her cousin Elisabeth. I’ve always been perplexed about why Mary chose to go and visit Elisabeth and spend three months with her before she even told Joseph about the baby she was carrying. I don’t even know whether she told her mother before she spoke with Elisabeth. Did she not have a friend she could confide in? The scriptures are silent on the WHY. All we know for certain is that when Elisabeth saw Mary, her son John leapt within her womb, and somehow Elisabeth knew that her young cousin was also carrying a child. Not just any child, but THE CHILD.

I’m wondering if these special affinities we have for some people exist for a reason. Perhaps we’re meant to take special care of each other, to listen without judgment, and to fill in the gap(s) that no one else can .Even the most loving of mothers can’t understand everything about their children. Sometimes their temperaments are different, and sometimes they just flat out don’t have the time.

Gifts Differing

I walked into the library and met my friend Sue coming out. She was armed with some books about sewing and quilting and was super excited about a new project she's beginning. She facilitates a “sit and sew” class at church occasionally, and although I’ve never been, I think it must be fun for the people who attend. You know who I’m talking about, the ones who are talented with a needle, thread, and fabric. Not this gal. I went through a season of it, but at the moment, I have other things on my plate.

I was a little afraid that Sue was going to encourage me to come to her class, but she didn’t. Maybe she’s given up on me, or maybe she’s added so much more to her own platter that she doesn’t have time to teach the class anymore. Whatever the reason, she didn’t bring it up. Instead we talked about writing, and I think she and her husband are going to organize some ideas they have and put them in a book. We chatted about e-publishing before parting ways.

Since my encounter with Sue, I’ve been thinking about many of the women I know and their various gifts.

• Kitty can do just about anything, but right now she’s into genealogy and regularly teaches a class about finding ancestors.
• Connie, my artistic friend, can draw and take gorgeous photographs.
• So can Christi, a young friend who has her own photography business.
• Elizabeth and Kelly are middle school teachers. My hat is off to them!
• My husband’s mother and sister are two of the best cooks in the South. Me? I’d give myself between a C and a low B.
• My husband’s daughters were star athletes when they were younger, and I couldn't hit a basketball with a softball bat, much less that tiny little ball.
• My niece Katherine can open her mouth, and music comes out. It’s incredible.
• My daughter-in-law Amanda can play the piano like nobody’s business.

What I’m getting at is that it’s okay to be who we are without having to make excuses for who or what we are not. For evidence, all we have to do is look at a few of the women in the Bible. Rachel was beautiful, and although her sister Leah wasn’t, Leah gave birth to six of Jacob’s sons. Is beauty overrated? Deborah was a judge. Good for Deborah. The world needs women who are judges. It also needs women who can sing, sew, take pictures, prepare meals, play basketball, run businesses, write, dance, grow flowers, can vegetables, and teach children of the next generation.

I can’t sing or teach small children, at least not very well. I feel inadequate when I read about the virtuous woman in Proverbs who could do everything with aplomb and apparent ease. I’m not her, and neither are you, but who we are is fine.

Don't Look Back

Most mornings, I like to get up before dawn. That way, I can read and write to my heart’s content while the day is still fresh and uncluttered with the crazy busyness of life. Sometimes I’ll read a magazine or a novel that I’m working on for book club, but most of the time I’ll read something inspirational or informative…or both.


This morning I was leafing through a book entitled Gifts of the Spirit that I discovered at a local thrift boutique, The Red Door. By Philip Zaleski and Paul Kaufman, the book is subtitled Living the Wisdom of the Great Religious Traditions and has an overall theme of the importance of contemplation and stillness in daily life. Here’s one of my favorite sentences from the section I read this morning. “When you wake up tomorrow morning, let this be among your first thoughts: now is the time to begin….with the rest of my life before me, a path of unpredictable length and inconceivable wonder.”

Whether good, bad, or neutral, yesterday’s gone. While past events can continue to influence a person, she doesn’t have to remain trapped in the past with its demons. Nor will it do her any good to look longingly at a door that has closed. Now is the time to begin.

In Relief Society today, our teacher mentioned the story of Lot’s wife, and having heard and/or read about the misfortune that befell her when she looked back, I knew the moral of the story before Lisa told us: Don’t look back. Then one of the younger women gave me something to think about that I’d never considered before. She said she could be looking out of her kitchen window washing dishes and have a thought or memory about her past and some of the poor choices she had made and begin to feel anxious and unhappy. Don’t look back has a different but equally important meaning for her. She went on to say that she could choose to stay mired in guilt and shame or she could turn her thoughts to today. She always chooses the latter.

Is it a coincidence that I read the passage from Gifts of the Spirit just a few hours before again hearing of Lot’s wife decision? Maybe. What I most took from these two events is that no matter how many times you read a story, you can always come away with a fresh meaning, a heightened awareness of what was really going on. I’d always assumed that Lot’s wife was looking back with a bittersweet longing, and perhaps that was the case. The lesson is clear, however. Don’t look back.

Now is the time to begin the next chapter in your life, and you can’t do it if you’re a pillar of salt.

The Better Part

I think the highlight of my 2011 Spring Break was an Easter party that I attended in Rincon, GA yesterday afternoon. The event reminded me that I have way too much Martha in me. Seriously, I could almost hear the Savior whispering, “Martha, Martha,” and that’s what prompted me to go.

My purpose for going to Rincon was to see the changes in my daughter’s house and to help her with de-cluttering, cleaning, or watching after her four children so that she could paint, organize, or do whatever else she needed to do in order to get her home and psyche in order for Seth. He’s the baby who will arrive in July, and for the last few weeks, Carrie has been gearing up for his birth. Her daughters now have their bedroom upstairs, and the boys have been moved to the former girls’ room, thus leaving a bedroom free for baby Seth. Plus, the children have new twin beds and the cool bedding to go with them.

Upon arrival, I found Carrie washing dishes and Rich power washing the outside of the house. Within seconds, I could see that even washing dishes was a challenge because of the constant interruptions and needs of the children. I then learned that we only had a couple of hours because Carrie and the kids had been invited to a birthday party. “Go ahead,” I told her. “I can tackle things here on the home front much easier with an empty house.”

The moment the van left the garage, Susie Homemaker swung into action. I cleaned the children’s bathroom, vacuumed the carpet, mopped the kitchen floor and was in the middle of washing, drying, and folding clothes when the crew arrived home from the party. The children showed me their goodies, and the girls asked me to help them make friendship bracelets. I wanted to, and yet I felt determined to finish the laundry. “In a minute,” I promised.

The children began talking about the Easter party scheduled for that same afternoon, and I told Carrie to go ahead and take them. “I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I still have another load of laundry to fold.”

“Why don’t you go with us?” Carrie asked.

“Well, you know I have to get back to Camden before dark, and I just don’t know if I can finish what I’ve started AND go to the party.”

No reply from Carrie. Then for the third time, Brooke asked, “Grandmama, will you please help me with my bracelet now?”

Truly and sincerely, I heard, “Martha, Martha,” and within seconds, Brooke and I began working on her bracelet. I looked across the table at my tired daughter who was trying to summon the energy for the party and announced that yes, I thought it might be fun to go to a party.
We all piled in the van and rode to one of the most memorable Easter parties I’ve ever attended. The yard was beautiful with flowers, scrubs, goldfish ponds, an arbor, shade trees, and swings. Colton loved the latter; in fact, he made a beeline for a small swing, and except for the times when he was chasing balloons or devouring cupcakes, we knew where to find him.

I looked around, and my heart felt full. When did Braden grow so tall? And then, my granddaughters’ heads were easy to spot as the sun shone on the braids I had woven in their hair before the party. Brooke came over to where I was sitting on a wall enjoying some lemonade and recited the Pledge of Allegiance for me. Braden showed me where his new tooth was coming in. Emma showed me an angry red spot on the top of her foot where a “mosquito ant” had bitten her. Colton’s balloon popped, and undaunted, he marched right over to a clothesline where several were hanging and let the man in charge know that he wanted another one NOW.

There was a toddler there with pretty red hair. And Kim’s little daughter with her stretchy red headband was adorable. I met someone named Shirley who described some lovely places in Washington, thus increasing my desire to stop there when we go to Alaska next year. I also met a man who teaches at a prison, and I observed my sweet daughter conversing with several friends, thus assuring me that although her mama isn’t close by, she’s still being looked after. I ate a chocolate cupcake from LaNae’s table after decorating it with chocolate icing, and then I ate a Ball Park frank.

I sauntered over to the two goldfish ponds and saw these huge colorful fish swimming around and around and around in the pools. Leaning over one pond was one of the cutest little boys I’ve ever seen, and he was trying to catch one of the fish. He looked up at me long enough to say that he was going to catch one to take home to put in his goldfish bowl because his fish had died.

Sounds of laughter, conversation, and squeals of delighted children were all around me. And lest I forget, there was music, including “Here Comes Peter Cottontail.” The kids went on an egg hunt, and they all came back with full baskets of plastic eggs and treats. All that and more I would have missed if I’d stayed in my Martha mode. Instead, I chose the “better part,” and today I much richer for it.

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.

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.

Better Together

A couple of Saturdays ago, I was strolling down the beach and saw a flurry of activity ahead. There were three or four men wearing suits, and as I got closer, I spied two men in military uniforms. Other people joined the crowd, all dressed in their Sunday best. And there she was: a beautiful barefoot bride making her way down the dunes toward the wedding party. I couldn’t resist watching for a few minutes, so I stood off to the side with some other gawkers.

After a few minutes, I continued my walk down the strand, and when I returned about 30 minutes later, there were only three people there, the newlyweds and the person who married them. I couldn’t help but think that sooner or later, it all comes down to just two people. Others are there to support and encourage the couple, but ultimately they’re on their own. Yes, I know that God is the third partner in a marriage (or should be), but that’s a post for another day. Today my focus is on the two who say, “I do.”

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the Adam and Eve story. Not only were they the first married couple and first parents, but as far as we know, they stayed together despite a rocky start. I recently re-read their story for a lesson I was to teach, and today I’m pondering some of the insights I gained from studying the account in Genesis. It hit me for the first time that although Eve did what she was told not to do, Adam stuck by her side. Maybe it was because she was the only other human around, but I think it was more than that.

This is my take on it. After Eve had partaken of the fruit, she told Adam what she had done. She “fessed up” rather than try to hide it. Yes, perhaps she should have consulted with him beforehand, but I’m thinking of how appealing and delicious Satan made the fruit look to her. Eve might well have asked herself why something so beautiful should be forbidden. Like I’ve often heard other women (and men) reason, she might have decided it was easier to get forgiveness than permission. Whatever her motives, Eve succumbed to the serpent’s temptation. Is there a woman alive who hasn’t???

Here’s the part I like. When Eve told Adam what she had done, he didn’t berate her, scold her, criticize her, or give her a lecture on morality and honesty. Nope. He took a bite too. They were partners who were working on their “oneness,” and he seemed to recognize that. They then became aware of their nakedness, and both attempted to cover it. Together, they tried to hide from God. He, of course, knew of their transgression and of their location. It’s worth noting that they are together when He discovers them; they were united. It’s true that Adam sort of tried to pass the buck and blame his disobedience on Eve, but still….

Together, they’re expelled from Eden, and together they begin their mortal life, one of toil and trouble and sorrow. I’m not saying they don’t share laughter and some fun times too. (I sure hope they do). I’m just saying that Adam stuck by her and that together they left the garden. I see a lesson for us in there. Do you?

Perceived Righteousness

Watching Annual Conference was an interesting experience yesterday, quite challenging too. We don’t have the BYU channel here at the beach, but “no problem,” I thought. I had my trusty pink Dell laptop and was confident that we could all watch it online. And actually, I was right; we could watch it, but we really couldn’t hear it very well. Despite our efforts to change it, the volume stayed low. Plus, there was the constant background noise of four active little children, one of whom is still a demanding infant. Adorable beyond description, Colton just couldn’t understand why all the grown-ups had rather look at a computer screen than at him.

That said, I did get a few nuggets to ponder from yesterday’s experience. I was reminded of the importance of loving and serving one another. Despite a person’s skin color, country of origin, or bank account, he or she is still a child of a loving Heavenly Father. According to Elder Uchtdorf, sometimes people hold themselves in high esteem because of wealth, prestige, or perceived righteousness. I loved that he said that. Why?? Because it’s so true. For some reason, the wealth and prestige part doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the perceived righteousness.

The “holier than thou” aspect really bugs me. I’ve heard a woman hiss hatefully at her husband when he asked her a question during Sunday school, a woman who purports to be the perfect wife and mother. I’ve heard innumerable (yes, that many) accounts of people judging others (Did you see than short dress???) from people who darken the church doorways whenever they’re open. I’ve been in homes too cluttered and dirty to feel the spirit and been judged by its owners for drinking caffeine. When I was a younger mother, I was hurt many times by “well meaning Christians” who took it upon themselves to remind me that my place was in the home with my children, not in the workplace. I know people who wouldn’t watch a television program on Sunday who are so “righteous” that being around them is scary. Really.

I’m a roll this morning and could go on and on. But then, I’d be guilty of doing the very thing I’m preaching against: being judgmental and hypocritical. I’ll quit while I’m ahead. I hope we can embrace all of God’s children and remember that love is the word.

More Mary, Less Martha

Sometimes all people want is to be heard. A couple of weeks ago, my father-in-law passed away, and as several of us were standing outside of his room, an elderly gentleman walked up and said something like, “I know what you’re going through.” He and I looked at each other eyeball to eyeball, and when he knew that I was listening, he told me that his wife of many decades that died three months earlier, somewhat unexpectedly. I could have said, “Can’t you see that we’re sort of tied up with our own sorrow right now?” but I didn’t. Along with a couple of other people, I just stood there and listened.

I’ve often pondered over the brevity of Mary and Martha story in Luke. Although short, it contains many lessons, primarily the one about keeping our eyes, ears, hearts, and minds centered on the words of Christ. That short passage in Luke has prompted many discussions among my female friends as we struggle to balance the demands of our families and homes with the need to search, ponder, and pray.

This past week I learned yet another way to interpret the Mary/Martha story. When Christ tells Martha that Mary is about the “better part,” I think that he’s referring to her state of attentive mindfulness in general. Not only is he telling the sisters that listening to His words is important, but He’s also implying that we need to adopt that attitude when with our loved ones…and anyone else who’s in need of a listener.

Within our homes, there is often space and separation when there could be connectedness and communication. We talk and listen, but we do it with our heads and not our hearts. We discuss bills, dinner plans, the weather, and the latest movies, but we avoid feelings and dreams. We’re always flitting about hither, thither, and yon when perhaps our time would be better spent just listening, being fully present. Without being judgmental, impatient, or “cumbered about,” we need to sit quietly in the presence of these people in our lives.

Doesn’t Christ say that when you’ve done it unto the least of one of these, that we’ve done it unto Him? So while reading scriptures and praying is important, so is paying mindful attention to others. This week, I’ve been trying to follow Christ’s gentle instruction to Martha, and it’s SO HARD. I find myself wanting to rush in and finish sentences, go for a walk, or give advice. Part of my struggle is because of life in the 21st century with all of its craziness. Excuses aside, I’ve been instructed by the Master himself, so I’m earnestly going to try harder to be more patient and thoughtful.

Sometimes all people want is to be heard.

Life Goes On

When asked what he’d learned about life, Robert Frost reportedly said, “It goes on.” Yesterday and today, I've been thinking about those three little words quite a bit. My father-in-law died yesterday afternoon, and while there was sadness all around, there was also conversation about the business of life. Who would the pallbearers be? What should be included in the obituary? When I left for work this morning, my husband was busy reading the up-to-date news on the internet. I had already washed a load of clothes and gathered the trash for the garbage pickup. Life goes on.

A friend of mine lost his mother a few years ago, and the "life goes on" proverb applies to her situation as well. Truly one of "Eve's Sisters," this mother and grandmother had lived a full and loving life. I remember dealing with some of my friend's students and how struck I was with the stark juxtaposition of life and death.

Here's the excerpt from my book:

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” 1 Corinthians 15:55

Although there was a note on the door indicating that the instructor would not be meeting his class today, the students were standing around speculating about what they should do. “Was a substitute coming?” they wondered aloud. “Was there a homework assignment?” Overhearing their comments, I stopped to tell them that their instructor’s mother had passed away and that he would probably be back in class by Thursday.

Conscientious and anxious about the Spanish class, they pressed for more information on what I thought they should do. “Check his resource page,” I suggested. “You know that if he has any announcements or assignments, he’ll post them there.” Seemingly satisfied with that answer, they began to disperse.

Walking away, I thought of how even death itself makes no dent in the lives of those not personally affected. Jim’s saintly mother had gone to meet her Maker, and his students, although concerned about him and his welfare, wanted to know about their Espanol assignments. Knowing Jim, I knew that despite his grief, he too had his classes and responsibilities on his mind. After all, life goes on. Bills must be paid, obligations must be met, and students must be taught proper verb conjugations and days of the week in Espanol.

Further reflection reminded me of doctrine I’d been taught since childhood: Physical death is spiritual birth. Although it’s natural for the living to mourn the loss of a loved one, the recently departed are yet living for they have been spiritually reborn. I recalled how Jim had described his mother’s strong belief in the power of prayer and of her daily study of the scriptures. In fact, when taking a test to enter Seminary decades earlier, Jim successfully completed the exam on the first try because of his mother’s tutelage.

“Yes,” I thought, “Life goes on, and today this faithful Christian was alive in a more heavenly sphere.”

“When we die we shall go on living.” Gordon B. Hinckley

And I sincerely believe that. We do keep on living...in another sphere, a more celestial one. Here on earth and there in the heavens, life goes on.

Not so Perfect

I’m one of the most fortunate people in the world. I have friends from all walks of life who offer support, encouragement, advice, and FUN. I don’t hang around with naysayers, at least not for long. I’m a firm believer that you can’t bring someone into the light by stepping into the darkness with them (an idea I picked up from Stephen Covey). Consequently, I try to surround myself with positive people. Connie is one of them.

The other night we met at Chili’s to share a belated birthday dinner, and we had a great conversation. We touched on children, grandchildren, aging, husbands, fashion, and yes…gospel principles. While she and I both strive to walk the straight path and to be as loving, accepting, and understanding as possible, we realize that we aren’t perfect. We also realize that no one is. Why then, do some people think they are and proceed to find fault with less than perfect people like Jayne and Connie?

We’re all at different places in our spiritual development. Some have no problems with paying tithing but can’t seem to pay a compliment to a spouse or child who might be starving for a kind word. Is it easier to write a check than give attention to loved ones? Some people keep the Sabbath holy and would rather go hungry than buy a loaf of bread on Sunday. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I’ve heard some of these folks made snide and snarly remarks to others. Some people would never dream of drinking a glass of sweet tea, but might weigh an extra 50 or 60pounds. I recall hearing someone make disparaging remarks about a woman who often left church early (tsk tsk), but little did they know that she left to prepare and take meals to an elderly couple in her neighborhood.

I hope I don’t appear self-righteous or judgmental. I’m just saying that we’re all on different places in our spiritual development path, and that our job is to encourage, support, and help each other rather than bring them down or thwart their progress. If someone is slipping and sliding in the mud, lend a hand. If she has rocks in her path that keep tripping her up, help her kick them out of the way. If she’s weary and the path seems long and arduous, sit down beside her and rest a moment.

Here’s another Covey phrase: Be a candle, not a critic; be a light, not a judge. Sure am glad I have lots of candles and lights in my life. I can do without the judges and critics. Can’t you?

Fact or Interpretation?

Here’s the quote of the day that popped up on the computer this morning, one that perfectly sums up some thoughts I had earlier in the day: “There are no facts, only interpretations.” Friedrich Nietzsche

I’ve been reading a book about flawed families in the Bible, and after reading a chapter about Dinah’s “rape” this morning, I started thinking, “Who really knows what happened?” Really, who does? Who knows whether Jacob and Leah’s daughter was raped or whether she willingly submitted to Shechem? Who knows whether she should have stayed home instead of going into the city? Who knows whether she was dressed in a provocative manner, or whether Shechem, accustomed to having his way as a princely sort of guy, just liked what he saw and “took” her?

The book I read this morning made it seem that while Dinah probably deserves our compassion, she should have stayed in the family compound where it was safe. Plus, the author makes Jacob appear uncaring, conniving, and self-centered. Perhaps he was all of those things. I don’t know. When I read The Red Tent a few years ago, I was convinced that Dinah and Shechem were madly in love with each other. Some well-meaning friends and fellow bloggers might direct me to the source: the Bible. Yet, how many times has that sacred text been interpreted and re-interpreted? How many things have been left out? How likely is it that words in good old English mean the same as those in Hebrew?

I have no answers, only questions…and a basic curiosity. I’m inclined to agree with Nietzsche that there are more interpretations than there are facts. What about you?

What's Her Name?

What’s her name? You know, the woman who was married to Job? The one who had ten children and lost them all when a wind came out of the wilderness and blew down the house in which they were eating and drinking? The one who lost everything at the same time that her well-known, “perfect and upright” husband did. The one who must’ve hurt deeply to have said, “Curse God, and die.” The one who watched as day after day her husband and his “friends” sat pondering the meaning of it all. Even his friends had names, but not her.

Job’s suffering continues and gets to the point that he says his soul is weary of life. Where is she? Even after being covered with boils and having his friends doubt his goodness, Job vows that, “till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me.” Where is she? I know a woman’s place was much different at this time and place, but still this is a woman who has given birth to seven sons and three daughters who are now dead because of a bet (?) between God and Satan. This unnamed woman must have grieved mightily.

As we know, Job’s fortune is restored twofold, and his wife has ten more children. After giving birth to twenty children, she still goes unnamed. I don’t know why this bothers me, but it does. Can anyone in Blogland offer any insight?

Don't Look Back

After reading a friend's blog about perspective today, I've been thinking a lot about the importance of moving on, of not getting stuck in the past. Our pasts can influence us, but they don't have to determine who we are and what we become. We are free to choose our destiny, and sometimes that involves being obedient or disobedient.

These thoughts, prompted by Christie's post, reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago about Lot's wife. Here it is:

Genesis 19:26
“But his wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.”
This story has always seemed crazy to me. Crazy and cruel. Crazy for her to look back after God had clearly told the family not to and cruel for God to actually turn her into a pillar of salt. But then again, Lot’s wife was human, a mere mortal just like the rest of us who don’t always do what God tells us to do. We try, but sometimes we slip and fall just like she did. Still, it seems such a minor infraction. A backwards glance, and forever she’s a chunk of sodium.

There’s got to be an explanation. Some scientists would have us believe that it never happened, and that in fact there are salt formations all over the area near the southern tip of the Red Sea. Others with no plausible explanation might say that it’s a metaphorical story. Perhaps it is, and yet I prefer to believe the actual Biblical account and keep asking myself why God was so emphatic about not looking back and why he meted out such severe punishment. After all, the ramifications of that act affected her entire family. Lot had no wife; his daughters had no mother.

I’m wondering if this story is oft repeated not only as an indication of what God can and will do if we disobey him but also because looking back is unhealthy. How can one move forward if she’s forever looking longingly at yesterday? Some people live so much in the land of Yesterday that they can’t go forward. They become pickled like the pillars of salt somewhere between Sodom and Zoar.