A Beauty that is Not False

In light of my recent post about beauty (Mirror, Mirror on the Wall), I wanted to share these thoughts again about a very special woman and the very important life lesson she gave me.

    Raising a daughter and three sons in a beauty-obsessed culture has certainly posed some significant challenges, but thankfully nearly thirty years ago I met a woman who embodied the very essence of beauty. Long before The Daughter was but a babe in arms, I found myself struggling to process the conflicting messages that bombarded me in this area.  How could a concept that has been so totally corrupted by man be redeemed? What did walking out redemption of an idea like beauty look like (no pun intended)? Could I truly embrace the truth that beauty emanates from the soul of a woman or a man as they mirror the image of the Living God as opposed to the cultural mandate that the reflection in the mirror is the most important representation of beauty? How could I not succumb to the seduction of a culture that cuts, carves, and transforms both men and women, but predominantly women, into objects that bear little resemblance to real human beings and furthermore, serves to sexualize them in abhorrent ways?  And perhaps most importantly, how in the world would I be able to teach my daughter and my sons what I struggle to understand, embrace, and practice myself.?
   And then I met a woman whom the Lord used to help me understand the concept of beauty in a powerfully transcendent way. She became the representation of the plumb-line to which I returned over and over as I struggled to redefine my ideas about beauty. Her name was Sadie Yoder, and she was the undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I have ever known.

Mom and Dad Yoder

She was also the godliest. She had a peace and a serenity that drew others to her like weary travelers to an oasis in the desert. Yet her outward appearance was in many ways quite ordinary, but her inner beauty, well her inner beauty was so extraordinary that it totally consumed her outer being. Raised in an Amish home, she was a woman who never wore make-up a day in her life and she certainly never invested a dime in any miracle creams that promised to mitigate, alter, or alleviate the passage of time. She was totally comfortable in her size 14 dresses. In fact, she was totally comfortable in her skin. Her skin was just that. Her skin. It was not who she was or what she was. It was the covering over the muscles and tissue and bones. It did not define her or empower her. It was simply just the covering for the tent. Each time I left her presence I came away refreshed and challenged anew to reorient my thinking to the truth of the gospel she so loved and embodied. I found her beauty and her faith compelling. She was absolutely gorgeous to me. When my daughter was little, she told me many times that she wanted to grow up to be like Sadie. I understood. I wanted to grow up to be like Sadie, too. I have been thinking about her a lot this week. Her beloved husband passed into the glories of heaven week before last, and the family gathered at the homestead one last time to lay the body of the man she loved with all of her heart into the ground. He was just as remarkable as she. The beauty she emanated is in no small part due to the steadfast love and faith that they shared. She was his beloved and he was hers. They were beautiful together.

Sadie as a young woman

     I am so thankful that before The Daughter and I had the inevitable teenage arguments about make-up, pierced ears, and the length of her dresses, we decided together that Sadie would be the hallmark and standard by which we would judge beauty. It was a good decision and one that helped to steer our discussions in the right direction. We would talk about Sadie and the fact that although she took care with her appearance, she was not consumed by a need to pursue a notion of beauty that was totally false.
    I am blessed to know many beautiful women, but what I find most beautiful about them is the strength of their spirits, the tenderness of their faith, and the genuine lack of artifice that they possess. It is never the size of the waistline or the lack of wrinkles on their skin. It is the way that they look when they smile or when they laugh with joy. It is the undeniable and beautiful glory of the heavenly Father I see reflected in them.
    Mom Yoder, I am missing you today. I am missing your beauty and how you helped me understand what the world could not. I am so thankful to have known both you and Dad. You made a difference in my life. I am comforted and encouraged by the thought that at long last you are worshipping together at the feet of the Beautiful Savior, Jesus himself.

The Love of the Father

Behold what manner of love the Father has lavished upon us

that we should be called the sons and daughters of the Most High God. 

And thus we are.  I John 3:1

Each of us has some experience as a son or daughter. I daresay each of us has had a father or father figure at some point in our journey. For most of us, it is a crucial relationship and one that carries the mark of imprimatur upon our lives.

I lost my father to cancer when I was but a little girl. It was a defining loss for me, and it seems as though I spent a lifetime looking for that Daddy I lost too soon, wrestling with myself and ultimately with God to find the answers for the hole that kept opening up in my life.

Thankfully, I finally was able to obtain that measure of peace that brought me great freedom (see this post entitled David's Daughter)...it was, at times, a hard fought battle to get to the place where the hurt, the pain of loss, and the deep-seated fear of abandonment would ultimately begin to recede into the distance. It was a long journey, but one that I was required to take in order to move forward as a wife, mother, sister, daughter.

I marvel at times at the different cloth from which each of us is cut. No two alike. Each with his or her own path. His or her own story.

Little One has just turned three. My baby sister was younger than she when our father became terminally ill. It staggers me. I watch Little One as she holds her father's hand. She is so safe and secure in her daddy's love for her. She is totally unafraid when she is with him. She trusts his arms to catch her. His love to secure her. And his faith to guide her to her own.

 

Only he can elicit shrieking, body-shaking laughter from her. Only he gets the most tender of her secret smiles. She has his heart and she knows it. It is a wonderfully confident and trusting kind of love.

I am thankful for a son-in-law who loves his children without restraint and with grace and hope. It bodes well for their future.

All of these quite lovely photographs were taken by Debbie Barnett.

Llama Llama or Yamma Yamma?

   Once a week, Little Two and I carve out time for ourselves. I pick her up early from school for some special girl-time. As I open the door to her schoolroom, she usually gasps as soon as she catches a glimpse of my face. There is nothing much better than the adoration of a grandchild. It stops my heart every time. Most days Little Two drops what she is doing, and runs to me yelling "Nonna, Nonna..." at the top of her little toddler voice. It is music to my ears.
   This last week when I opened the door, Little Two was sitting at the tiny table with her classmates having her afternoon snack, some delectable yogurt concoction. Immediately, I could see the conflict on her face. She kept looking from me to her bowl and back again. That yogurt was just so good. I solved her problem. I pulled a chair up to the table and sat down beside her. To my delight and surprise Little Two proceeded, toddler fashion, to introduce me to all of her teachers and classmates. She pointed and named each person, nodding and grinning with obvious pride. I would repeat each name and she would move to the next. Then she would start all over again. It was hilarious.
    After we packed her things up, we headed back to Little Two's house. Other than playing outside and watching Elmo, Little Two loves nothing better than reading books. (She is part of a long line of book lovers: most notably her great-grandmother, BaBa, and her great-great-grandmother, Lou Lou.) And of course, being the opinionated almost-two-year old that she is, Little Two has her definite favorites...mostly those toddler books with flaps and things hiding behind them, but there is one book to which she returns over and over again: Llama Llama Red Pajama, except she calls it Yamma Yamma Red PaYamma.
     We have our routine down. Little Two reads Llama Llama to me and then I read it to her. She laughs. She takes the book from me, goes back to the beginning, and then we do it again. And again. I am not certain what it is about toddlers and the act of repetition, but doing the same thing over and over again must bring them a sense of comfort and security. All I know is that Yamma Yamma Red PaYamma is burned into this grandmother's brain.

And by the way, if you have not met Llama Llama, you must do so quickly!

Nonna needed a break from Llama Llama, so we headed outside to pick the last of the summer's tomatoes. 

Little Two had to test them to be sure that they tasted just right. They did.

Isn't she just precious?!!!

She undoubtedly has my heart in the palm of her hand....

It Wasn't So Long Ago

It wasn't so long ago that I held his mother in my arms. She felt just right. Tiny head. Tiny hands. Tiny feet and tiny toes. She was everything I could have dreamed of and more. I cried tears of joy. With a daddy who adored her and two older brothers to love her and watch over her and protect and challenge (and provoke) her time and time again, she was one blessed baby girl. God gave me a wonderful gift. I thank Him today for the blessing of each of my children. They have taught me so much.
I am watching the cycle repeating itself. Except this time there is an older sister who will have the job that the older brothers once had. But there is an adoring and proud father and a grateful and overjoyed mother.
The look of love is the same. And the connection. The gratitude. And the blessing.

The babe lights up when he sees his mother. Tiny arms wave and the mouth opens as he coos his hello. His whole body literally shakes with the intensity of his smile. It's quite simply the look of love.

There is nothing quite like it. That look between a mother and her child. It still takes my breath away.

Little Three is changing daily. He can roll over from stomach to back and back to stomach. He talks to his momma. The boy is a laid-back, easy going baby who seems to be able to roll with the punches. It's a good thing. His sister, Little One, is quite the diva. She is adjusting to having to share the spotlight with this brother of hers. Happily, he adores her as well. She just doesn't realize yet how important she will be to him.

Since I am completely smitten with the newest little person in my life, I just had to share some of the delightful goodness with you!

What can I say? I am just a fool in love...

Introducing Little Three

    The world has shifted for us again as Little Three has made his grand appearance. And a very welcome one, at that. Any August baby that arrives eleven days early is a champion in my book.
    The Husband and I are so very thankful that we have been blessed to see "the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." Little Three is our first grandson after two adorable granddaughters initiated us into the wonder of grandparenthood. As I told one friend, "Our cup overfloweth with joy." And without further ado, here is why. Meet the newest member of our clan!

The sweetest little face you ever did see..

Guess who was so excited to see her baby brother? 

As she met him, she asked her mommy, "Is he borned yet?"

 Little One has NO IDEA how much her life is about to change!

And that's a good thing.

Her mommy and daddy gave her a baby boy doll to take care of

that is about the same size as her baby brother!

And then the "big" family arrived. Little Three is in for a big treat where family

is concerned. We are loud and loving and there are lots of us!

And now...let the wild rumpus begin!