Sunday

I'm kneading pizza dough. Working it, waiting until the feel is just right. My mind is wandering, going over my night last night.

I work at a botanical garden right outside the football stadium at Iowa State University. Every October we host "Spirits in the Gardens", which is our walk though, view over 1000 carved pumpkins spread throughout our 14 acres of botanical glory, autumn event.

It's a fun time and it's a lot of work.

Last night I was the greeter. "Welcome. Do you have your tickets ready? You'll need the QR code ready to go when you get to the kiosk. Do you have Saturday night tickets? Not Friday? Not Sunday? Okay. You're all set. Cross the bridge and they'll scan the code for you there."

People came. I welcomed. Over and over and over. Of course you get the, "I didn't get a QR code" or "I can't find my QR code" or "I could have sworn I bought tickets for Saturday night and I can't come tomorrow night, I'm from out of town."

And then there were the babies. Babies in Halloween costumes. Babies in carriers. Three week old babies. Babies in strollers with wide eyes, chubby cheeks, and a look saying, "I'm not sure what is actually happening, but I'm here for all of it."

Our family is expecting a baby in about three weeks. Have I mentioned this before? I may have. I tend to tell people over and over and over. My beautiful baby boy and his beautiful wife are going to be parents and soon it is very possible that I will hold a little brown-eyed bundle who her mom hopes will have curly hair. A blond-haired, brown-eyed, curly girl?! It's all very exciting, and unfathomable but even if I'm not sure what grand-motherhood will be like, I can definitely say, "I'm not sure what is actually happening, but I'm here for all of it."

As I was checking tickets and commenting on how cute this particular wispy haired, chubby cheeked little girl was, her grandma squeezed my arm, looked me square in the eye, smiled knowingly, and then walked over the bridge to the kiosk to scan her QR code. Not a word was spoken.

It was jarring. I kept doing my thing, but I think something of great value was handed off. It was something I can't put words to, but I am certain something of value was squeezed into me.

Later, I was welcoming the family of a co-worker attending the event with her family. Her precious little girl, not quite three, was a princess, complete with a tiara, a tutu, and a blue bucket for the candy she was going to collect. I squatted down to say hello and with the widest of eyes and the most innocent of looks she told me, "I have a blue bucket." After I told her how lovely her blue bucket was she looked right at me and told me, "I have a blue bucket," as if she couldn't believe her luck.

Those eyes, the way she looked at me with complete innocence and astonishment were absolutely jarring.

I knead the dough and I can't get those two women out of my mind. The older woman and her wordless exchange of wisdom and the precious woman-to-be with her wide-eyed innocence and absolute delight, not in her appearance, but in her adored, and seemingly unexpected treasure.

The dough has sat for 15 minutes and now I must knead it again. My kitchen window is open and I can't decide if the wind I hear outside is dancing or wrestling the fragile autumn leaves, but whatever is going on out there, the sound of it takes me deeper into myself and my thoughts.

I'm thinking about women, about being a woman, how it's a wonderful mystery and how I wish I could figure it all out. Then the Proverbs 31 woman pops into my mind and I realize how glad I am Jesus never talked about the Proverbs 31 woman.

I have never liked her. She's a bit much don't you think? Would you actually want to hang out with her?

She's been presented to me more times than one as the woman I should strive to be, but most of the time after a discussion or sermon about her, I leave feeling nauseous and angry.

I'm remembering a specific night when she was discussed at a women's Bible study I was attending. I think I had one child at this point in my story, and the pressure of motherhood was mounting and my inadequacies were all too clear. The woman leading us that night was not selling me on adding more to my shoulders by trying to be like this weirdo woman from Proverbs 31. Honestly, I'm not sure she was sold herself. Something felt off to me. I think the truth was in her eyes and not in her words. Her mouth may have formed words about being clothed with strength and dignity, having faithful instruction on our tongues, and having our children rise up and call us blessed but her eyes spoke of weariness, sadness, and a deep understanding of some type of unspoken injustice.

I'll never know the story behind her eyes, but I do know for sure, I didn't buy any of it. I left feeling sick and angry.

Jesus did a lot for women. He still does even if the church prefers to ignore him. Perhaps one of the best things he did was to ignore the Proverbs 31 woman and instead praise a wanton woman. You know her. I don't see her as the kind of woman you find in church. She has a bit of a reputation. She's the one the church men Jesus was eating with, try to ignore and quickly judge, but yet can't seem to stop looking at. The woman who dumped an expensive jar of pure nard on Jesus' feet and then preceded to anoint him with her hair, her glory, her crown.

Remember her?

The men in the room, who I imagine, never once looked her in the eye, chastised her for her foolish and wasteful act, but Jesus, while watching her anoint him, turned to the men in the room and said, "I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her." (Mark 14:9).

I'm not sure what you are reading right now can be called gospel but here we are, remembering her.

I have the inkling Jesus knew his audience and perhaps making mention of a woman who would not be forgotten was his way of telling his Jewish dinner companions to remember the woman I'm sure they learned about in Hebrew school from Psalm 45. Another woman who's memory was perpetuated through all generations.

Read it. It's a good one.

Pizza dough. Spirits in the gardens. A look and a squeeze. A blue bucket. A standard no one can meet and an unforgettable wanton woman. Wow. Quite a lot for a Sunday.

I'm searching for a point to all of this, trying to figure out what the look and the squeeze were all about and I still can't nail it down. Maybe it has something to do with how we are all in this together and how, at every stage, we should be awed by our treasures, our unexpected blessings? Maybe it's about cheering other women on, whatever stage we find ourselves in, whether we are thriving or struggling, and being ready to look foolish, maybe even be called wanton if it means other women can learn from us and be blessed by the entirety of who we are, whether they call us blessed or wanton.

I don't know.

Here's what I do know: the wind is still blowing, I make delicious pizza, and I'm out.

Happy Sunday.