A Virtuous Woman: Who Can Find?

I stared at the old black and white photo on the remembrance pamphlet of a middle-aged woman holding a bucket of eggs she had just gathered. She wore a sweater and an apron, no doubt, covering her everyday work dress. My great-aunt Helen was married to my father's uncle. Aside from the pastor officiating, her memorial service was made up of her favorite hymns and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren sharing their favorite memories, quotes and scriptures of their beloved grandmother. It was indeed a celebration of a well-lived life.

Her life wasn't well-lived in that it was a glorious, infamous, or even easy. Helen was born in 1913; she witnessed the greatest changes in technology, moral decline and qualify of life than any generation. She was simply a farm wife, raising her family in a quiet and gentle way no matter what chaos surrounded them. Her simple life was built around family, church and community.

She faced unimaginable heartache when she lost her son, Calvin in 1953, while he was a freshman in college. Attempting to join a fraternity, he was killed in a type of hazing accident. Her husband, Lowell, took his own life behind their farm house in 1972. Just three months later, a week-old grandson, Jeffrey, passed away. Less than two years later, while still reeling from tremendous loss, fresh grief swept over her when another son, Henry, also took his own life. The losses were staggering, yet, she quietly kept serving, kept smiling. There were no excuses from life or responsibility, no pity parties and if anyone had the right to complain, it was Helen. It wasn't that she forgot about the overwhelming grief that would awaken her each night, but she she chose to carry-on. She made a choice to spend time with her grandchildren and great-children, to cook meals for others; through her own waves of grief, she gathered opportunities to serve like she gathered the hen's eggs in her baskets.

A quiet woman of strength, standing there in the chicken lot, she could be any one's grandma. History speaks of powerful women who would bring down great powers, who seduced kings into the enemy's hands and whose bravery stood alongside the bravest of solders. Yet, there is no greater legacy than that of a woman like Helen. Though we don't read their names in history books or on plaques on buildings, we see remnants of their character live on as it's passed down from generation to generation. They are the hand that rocks the cradles, the hand that serves her family and those around them. In a time where the women who are celebrated are bold and brash; they are the Madonna's the Lady Gaga's and they are in our face, shouting and screaming, demanding that they be heard - a time where norm is to prostitute our ourselves, our daughters so that we fit-in, so we look like the world. Believe me, the Lady Gaga's are no ladies and the damage they cause to society are sorely felt. But, the grace and elegance of a life well lived, even in the midst of adversity, when when the pain wants to bury you - that exemplified character has the greatest echoing impact on our homes and society. Helen's pain and journey were not in vain. It is the epitome of a woman of dignity and virtue and the countless people who have been affected by her life.