The Sisterhood
Sometimes I still marvel at the fact that I have a daughter. There's just something about the bond between women--even two year old women-- that can't be explained. I've thought long and hard about how Miss Cora and I are going to spend our days now that the boys are in school. This is a brave new world for me: just one child three days a week, and she's a girl! Of course not every moment will be meaningful and packed with significance, but for the first time I have an opportunity to give one of my children my undivided, intentional attention. How fitting that it would be my daughter. I have so much I want to teach her, instill in her, model for her, learn with her. It's a window of time I can only call a gift.
Much has been said about raising daughters, and most of it conflicts with the rest. I've been sifting my way through as I learn what it means to raise a woman. I want her to be confident, independent, intelligent, caring, compassionate. I don't want her to be consumed with her looks, but I want her to feel beautiful, and to be beautiful. In our efforts to make sure that our daughters aren't consumed with their looks, I think we miss an opportunity to teach them what it means to be truly beautiful: confident, graceful, maximizing our natural beauty. I so often feel that tension already between teaching her the things that the world values and those that the church values--and sometimes I think we put a greater divide between the two than we need to. All of this has made me tentative, nervous about raising a daughter who embodies the kind of woman I hope she will be. But today I had some small insight.
We were driving home from a trip to the grocery store (and, oh, the bliss of shopping with just her!!). We had picked up some little windmill cookies, like the ones my grandmother used to serve when I visited as a child. We had talked long and hard in the store, Cora and I, about how we would spend our morning. We'd settled on windmill cookies and "coffee"--the real thing for me, and a mug with water for her. She was elated. As we drove home, I imagined us sitting at the table together, nibbling our cookies and nursing our drinks, talking. There's never a shortage of conversation with her. At two, it normally revolves around whose birthday we should celebrate, what toys she likes best, or what animals she's spotted from the windows. But it's conversation. And something about sitting around a table, cups in hand, pouring out our hearts to each other regardless of what's on them, made me think. This is womanhood. This is what we do as women. It's a universal experience, I think. We gather, often over drinks, often in the most casual settings. We gather and we share our hearts. We meet each other wherever we are in life, and we do our living together. I can find several points at which to connect with almost any woman I encounter, and the bond is something that is deeper than our demographic or life circumstances. It takes training and intentionality to live this way, it's true. But this is what it means to be a woman, to be a sister in this global community. This is the kind of woman I want to raise.
It's women, often gathered around a kitchen table over cups of coffee, who have sat with me through some of the biggest moments in my life. First my mother and my sister, later my mother- and sisters-in-law. Friends, co-workers, teachers, mentors. They've had words of wisdom when I've needed them most. They've had comfort when my world was turned upside down. They've rejoiced with me in the good times. They've laughed when there was nothing else we could do. They've listened as I've shared my struggles, my victories, my hard-won wisdom. They've had voices I've needed to hear, and they've let me know that my voice was worth hearing. And that's what I want Cora to learn. That she is a part of this community--this community that stretches across the generations, the centuries, the cultures. That she is a part of this community. There are things for her to learn from these women who surround her, and she will have things to teach them. Even at two, she has a voice, and it is worth listening to. Even at two, there are things she can learn from these women, and she needs to be listening. Some of the greatest growth in her life may well come from those moments, gathered around kitchen tables, sipping coffee with other women.
Today it was windmill cookies and sips of water from a tiny mug. I pray we will have hours of these moments together, learning what is it to speak and to listen, to be a part of a community. I will not always be the loudest voice in her life, but I hope I can instill in her a love for this sisterhood, an understanding that she has a part to play, and that she, too, will be welcomed with open arms into it. I pray I will raise a woman who is ready and eager to take her place in this beautiful sisterhood.
Much has been said about raising daughters, and most of it conflicts with the rest. I've been sifting my way through as I learn what it means to raise a woman. I want her to be confident, independent, intelligent, caring, compassionate. I don't want her to be consumed with her looks, but I want her to feel beautiful, and to be beautiful. In our efforts to make sure that our daughters aren't consumed with their looks, I think we miss an opportunity to teach them what it means to be truly beautiful: confident, graceful, maximizing our natural beauty. I so often feel that tension already between teaching her the things that the world values and those that the church values--and sometimes I think we put a greater divide between the two than we need to. All of this has made me tentative, nervous about raising a daughter who embodies the kind of woman I hope she will be. But today I had some small insight.
We were driving home from a trip to the grocery store (and, oh, the bliss of shopping with just her!!). We had picked up some little windmill cookies, like the ones my grandmother used to serve when I visited as a child. We had talked long and hard in the store, Cora and I, about how we would spend our morning. We'd settled on windmill cookies and "coffee"--the real thing for me, and a mug with water for her. She was elated. As we drove home, I imagined us sitting at the table together, nibbling our cookies and nursing our drinks, talking. There's never a shortage of conversation with her. At two, it normally revolves around whose birthday we should celebrate, what toys she likes best, or what animals she's spotted from the windows. But it's conversation. And something about sitting around a table, cups in hand, pouring out our hearts to each other regardless of what's on them, made me think. This is womanhood. This is what we do as women. It's a universal experience, I think. We gather, often over drinks, often in the most casual settings. We gather and we share our hearts. We meet each other wherever we are in life, and we do our living together. I can find several points at which to connect with almost any woman I encounter, and the bond is something that is deeper than our demographic or life circumstances. It takes training and intentionality to live this way, it's true. But this is what it means to be a woman, to be a sister in this global community. This is the kind of woman I want to raise.
It's women, often gathered around a kitchen table over cups of coffee, who have sat with me through some of the biggest moments in my life. First my mother and my sister, later my mother- and sisters-in-law. Friends, co-workers, teachers, mentors. They've had words of wisdom when I've needed them most. They've had comfort when my world was turned upside down. They've rejoiced with me in the good times. They've laughed when there was nothing else we could do. They've listened as I've shared my struggles, my victories, my hard-won wisdom. They've had voices I've needed to hear, and they've let me know that my voice was worth hearing. And that's what I want Cora to learn. That she is a part of this community--this community that stretches across the generations, the centuries, the cultures. That she is a part of this community. There are things for her to learn from these women who surround her, and she will have things to teach them. Even at two, she has a voice, and it is worth listening to. Even at two, there are things she can learn from these women, and she needs to be listening. Some of the greatest growth in her life may well come from those moments, gathered around kitchen tables, sipping coffee with other women.
Today it was windmill cookies and sips of water from a tiny mug. I pray we will have hours of these moments together, learning what is it to speak and to listen, to be a part of a community. I will not always be the loudest voice in her life, but I hope I can instill in her a love for this sisterhood, an understanding that she has a part to play, and that she, too, will be welcomed with open arms into it. I pray I will raise a woman who is ready and eager to take her place in this beautiful sisterhood.
