Crônicas do Cotidiano

Posted on August 17, 2008 on the blog www.cronicasdocotidiano.com
by Elizabeth Zekveld Portela in São Paulo, Brazil

A few days ago I was reminded of the impact on my life of six little words, spoken by a lady that I actually never got to know very well. This happened when my sister forwarded me a thank you note that she had received via e-mail from the wife of a former college professor of ours. This gentleman had just spent the previous three weeks with my sister’s church and family, teaching, preaching and participating in a synod. He had spent some time in their home and in their company in other places and now he was back at his own home, on the other side of the country.

My thoughts went back to the past – to the time when we studied (my husband and I) in a small Christian college in the USA. Dr. Oliver taught us some Bible courses—especially Philosophy of the Christian Faith (a course in Systematic Theology, used Louis Berkhof’s book). He thus had a major impact on our understanding of the reformed doctrines—confirming that which both of us had already starting learning in childhood. An “accessible” teacher, he would chat with my husband and encouraged his subsequent going on to seminary. For a while, he was part of our day-to-day life….

Mrs. Oliver (the lady that wrote to my sister), on the other hand, rarely appeared in the school. Sometimes she would attend special programs. I knew her by sight but, being very shy, never approached her. But somehow, one day—I think it was in my second year—we ended up side by side and she started talking to me. I don’t remember what we discussed, or what was the occasion, but I think I must have said something that reflected my lack of confidence as to my appearance. The words she said then made a mark on me for the rest of my life. She told me that she always admired me when she saw me and declared: You carry yourself like a queen.

I imagine that these were words that arose spontaneously, certainly given without any intent to change the direction of my life, without any idea of the size of my sense of inferiority, of my anxiety to be valued. She may even have wondered afterwards if she had not wrongly stimulated my vanity….

I, however, felt so special—as if I had become a new person. The girl that thought she was tall, skinny and not very attractive had been granted an aura of royalty. The ugly duckling had become a swan! I had been transformed from a peasant into a queen—Queen Elizabeth! And I never stopped being one… God did something in me or for me at that moment because, although she said nothing of apparent spiritual value, He used her words to confirm to me that I could carry my faith with dignity. And thus became true in me the image of the virtuous woman in the description given by “King Lemuel’s mom” recorded in Proverbs 31: She is clothed with strength (that I knew I had) and dignity (that I had too but did not usually perceive) (vs. 25). And, as time went by, I learned to correctly understand that the warning about charm and beauty as being deceptive and fleeting was not intended to repudiate these qualities but was calling attention to that which mattered much more—being a woman who fears the Lord! (vs. 30). (Why would she be dressing herself in fine linen and purple—vs. 22—if it would be sinful?)

After starting this post, I spent a fair amount of time trying to make a sort of family and ecclesiastical psychoanalysis to explain the background of this moment that I just described. But it was getting long and complicated and I decided to publish these thoughts some other time. Summarizing—the Dutch adults in my family and church avoided praising children, for fear that we would become conceited. On the other hand, they had no qualms about criticizing or rebuking because they believed they needed to point out and eradicate the sin that they knew dwelled in our childish/youthful hearts.

Besides this, the negative influence that I had received from outside (school and community) had been great. Extremely tall for my age, I was also very skinny. So my classmates liked to give me nicknames and “diminish” me—possibly with some envy because I also “stood out” academically. To make things worse, I couldn’t do much to “fix” my appearance. First, because it was considered sinful to use makeup and there were limits as to what could be done with my hair. In the second place, because almost all my clothing came from the thrift store and my opinion as to how they should appear did not count very much. Don’t think they were ugly or no good. My mom had a sense of beauty—she simply did not believe that the fashion of my generation was important and most attempts on my part to change her notions were labeled by the words “vain” or “vanity”.

After having being an extroverted and happy child I, for reasons I can’t entirely explain, became an extremely shy and bashful teenager, always seeking to please, afraid of being criticized or ridiculed, hungry for approval and admiration…. I lived between two “worlds”. In one of these, my appearance was (supposedly) unimportant and my actions were normally scrutinized before being appreciated (in silence) or censured (in words). In the other world, the beauty and the adornments of my face and body seemed vital to my worth.

When I got to college, I entered a third “universe.” In it, beauty was appreciated—makeup and adornments were used, colors matched, hairdos mattered and fashions were followed. But, at the same time, we learned to develop our inner beauty and balance the two. I had to rework everything, with the help of my future husband, trying to discern the true teachings of the Bible on these matters. Maybe that is why I ended up studying the matter so profoundly that I wrote about “women’s adornment,” first for a Christian woman’s magazine and then for a theological journal.

It wasn’t easy for me to improve/update my appearance, because most of the money that I earned working in the school’s library went straight to my college bill. My parents also helped with that and paid for my plane tickets to and from Canada. There was no monthly allowance and no way to ask for more. Even so, I managed to find ways to get some extra income and bought some more clothes and beauty aids. Other girls helped me, loaning me things on special occasions and giving me tips about colors and hairdos. Still, compared to most of these, I felt plain and somewhat of a country bumpkin.

It was at this point that Esther Oliver found me and said those six words. Why were they so special? Why didn’t they just make me conceited, instead of a better Christian? I don’t entirely know why myself, but I do perceive something important. She had detected a characteristic in me that was “complete” in itself—which I had received and developed without spending a penny. It was a quality in which I did not have to invest either time or money. It was something that was already mine and that I considered important for those who wished to be recognized in their world or make an impact on it.

After all, when I was a girl, I had inherited a collection of photos of the British royal family from my aunt—from the time that Elizabeth and Margaret were still little girls and had to move to Buckingham Palace when their Uncle Edward abdicated from the throne to marry an American “commoner.” I continued with the hobby, collecting photos of royal personages from the entire world and thus I was familiar with the appearance and the names of the majority of the princesses, queens and empresses of that time. Among those that fascinated me, besides Elizabeth and Margaret, were Sophia from Greece who became the Queen of Spain, the Nordic princesses, Farah Diba from Iran, Sirikit from Thailand… With few exceptions, they were the image of class and elegance when they would pose for the photos. And now I had been promoted to that category—that of royal highnesses…

Also, as an avid reader, I had read dozens of sugary romances situated in Europe of the 18th and 19th centuries—in which the authors specialized in transporting dukes, marquises, counts and princes from their normal environment in order to fall in love with beautiful but poor young maidens. These, for one reason or another, lived far from the court, and had thus managed to maintain an uncommon purity and innocence that attracted these handsome, well-built and fashionably dressed men (who were rich, too, of course).

But what always transpired was that, besides their beauty and innocence, these girls had something more—something almost intangible that proved their noble origins more than any birth certificate. You only had to see and hear them to know that. They had an innate poise, with an elegant manner of sitting and rising. They seemed to float when they walked. Each movement of their heads was graceful, their voices were soft and gentle, their gestures were refined…. They commanded the love and respect of many just by the way they were.

The noble dukes (or princes, marquises or counts—never viscounts!) would struggle with making a commitment because nobility always had to marry nobility. There would then follow an internal conflict between mere passion and true love with the young ladies almost being seduced, being finally saved by the revelation that they were, in fact, aristocrats. Only then would they live happily ever after, with husbands who, after years of faithless and fleeting relationships, supposedly had found “the one” that would make them content for the rest of their lives. Foolishness? For the most part, yes. But that’s not my point here. What matters is that I had filled my head with this kind of dreamy thinking about being recognized as a refined and elegant person, despite my relatively humble origins.

Now, through my bearing, through my posture, someone had perceived a sign of royalty in me, a quality that highlighted not only my height, but also a type of presence that bordered the majestic. The visibility that had previously been of such concern, now had a positive side. Even though I had grown up and worked on a farm… Even though I was the daughter of poor immigrants… Even though I had always lived differently from the majority… Suddenly, I saw myself through the eyes of a person that I perceived as a poised, happy and respected woman—and caught a glimpse of a future with dignity for myself as well. I, thus, went on to try to acquire other attributes such as gracefulness, charm, good taste, good manners and elegance. And I was aware that my newly discovered “bearing of a queen” would be of little value if it were not accompanied by a kind heart and Christian attitudes.

Esther (also the name of a Queen) Oliver never counseled me or corresponded with me. She never kept up on my life. She doesn’t know how many children I have, if my parents are still alive, where and how I serve God… There are a number of women that have dedicated many more hours to my well-being and growth. But her memory will always be precious to me.

I have never forgotten! Even now, when weariness, discouragement or pain want to reveal their presence through my face or through my bearing, those words come to my mind: I sit or stand up straight, correct my posture and try to relax my facial expressions—remembering that I am the daughter and representative of the King of Kings. God has helped me since then to take much of the focus off myself. But, at that moment, He was merciful and allowed that lady to be able to identify and encourage the worth that He Himself gave and gives me, as his adopted daughter and, therefore, a princess.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we all could leave behind a similar legacy—of at least one person blessed though the words we have spoken spontaneously? I plan to translate this post and ask my sister to resend it to the lady that she and her husband (who also studied in the same college) now know as “Esther,” rather than “Mrs. Oliver.”  Judging by the way she wrote her note, assuming the position of a well-informed spokesperson for her husband (who had returned worn out but also very happy and grateful for the moments he had spent and the affection he had enjoyed), she continues to be a blessing to many, starting with her husband—the person she was already completing when I knew her almost 40 years ago.

In my next post, I would like to use these memories as a starting point for reflecting a little more about communication in the home—about what was good in the way I was raised and about what we tried to change…. And a few other things that I am still trying to decipher—which I may perhaps only understand in heaven… Always mindful that we are, in fact, all limited (by what we receive and who we are) and that this brings consequences. But certain, also, that when we are sons and daughters of God, we are being freed from the bonds that hold us (by being born again through the Son of whom we are declared to be brothers and sisters in Romans 8:29.)

We have been made capable of starting over, of cultivating new habits and walking new paths—bringing gladness to the King our Father and to our children, siblings and parents. Not only on the day of our conversion but day after day, growing, improving, changing… Asking forgiveness and starting over… Blessing… And being blessed…

Betty

Este artigo foi publicado em 21 de agosto, 2008. Está arquivado sob Blog, English. Você pode acompanhar os comentários a este artigo através do feed RSS 2.0. Você pode deixar um comentário, ou fazer um trackback do seu próprio site.