Widow

 If I can say I hate something, it’s the word widow.  I thought often about the word when I was caring for Bill.  It sounds ugly, sour, crippled, old… just yucky.  I said it out loud pondering its connotations.  Widows portray rigid bitties in period novels.  Widows spatter pews in old denominational churches.  Widows wear long formless shifts.  Widows shoo children.  I was going to be a widow.  I was going to unwillingly assume a detestable title.  I couldn’t decline it.  I had to accept it.  I am plain not happy about it. 

 

I know that very unfortunate losses happen to young women, beautiful women, kind women.  Sometimes the loss even highlights these features.  Women, in their fragile state, endear others to them in a tender way.  Their fractured lives are humbled, receptive, thankful for support.  So broken and so lovely.  So then why must we tag them with such a displeasing term?  At least that’s what I think. 

 

Until this morning.  As my Bible app read nuggets of truth to me from Proverbs, one stopped me in the middle of my routine.  Proverbs 15:25: “He protects the property of widows.” There’s that yucky word.  In God’s word.  Couched in a blessing.  I need that blessing because I’m caring for property that is beyond my care-ability.  Well, I got to remembering, more is said about this maybe-not-so-ugly word in His word.  God defends widows (Psalm 68:5).  In Deuteronomy 16 we read about God providing for and including widows.  The Bible talks about God’s care and protection for widows.  It rather sounds like honor.  Am I right?  Should I go about my days feeling special in a way?  Does God honor me as a widow?

 

I’m still not fond of the term and the way it sounds.  But I am a widow.  And I will seek and receive all the unique privileges promised to me as one.  As I get used to this idea, I’m counting on the hating part giving way to a welcoming part of being a widow.  I hope that the word widow settles sweetly inside.  I hope I can be a widow worthy of God’s honor.