Strong Women

Right now, I’m still trying find time to finish The Tender Bar by JR Moehringer. Today I read about JR’s grandmother, an avid storyteller who was worn by an abusive husband. Moehringer paints his grandmother so vividly and so poetically, I could not help but draw parallels with my own grandmother—another woman who can tell a heck of a story and who survived an alcoholic husband (who thankfully changed his ways).

It made me think of a CD I have been listening to for almost 24 hours. Last night, a friend of mine gave me a copy of the CD Woman King by Iron & Wine. The entire CD sings stories about strong women, and I must admit the lyrics are amazing. (Thank you, Collin. I think I am already driving Maranda crazy with placing the songs on repeat.)

With my life surrounded by strong, amazing women and storytelling, I began to think about my daughters. I pictured myself telling them stories—but not about castles and princesses. I foresee myself telling them the true stories of the women who each had a part in birthing them, in one way or another. I want to liberate my daughters before society gets the chance to dictate weakness to them.

I want to tell them about Arsula Gravett, their great-grandmother who survived the depression, birthed five children at home, and still hears God as if He were drinking coffee with her in her house up on the hill.

I want to tell them about Loa Kendrick, a great-great-grandmother who still is a talented artist and craftswoman and still has plenty of fire left in her to warm the coldest of rooms.

I want to tell them about Mildred Coulter O’Neal, a great-grandmother who was one of the earliest female basketball players in Tennessee, who played Center when the Center actually stood at mid-court and each half had three-on-three under each basket.

I want to tell them about Kim McBath, their grandmother who never stops for a second and can practically do anything she envisions in her mind.

I want to tell them about Linda Isbill, their great-grandmother who can feed an army of relatives with her cooking, take care of the whole family, and still have time to enjoy the flowers.

I want to tell them about Angie Sharp and Megan McBath, their aunts who both were talented athletes, tough as nails, but have the tenderest of hearts.

I want to tell them about Kathryn Coulter, their grandmother who raised a brilliant son and taught him about God in a way only she could and who understands and values the importance of family—regardless of the miles between them.

I want to tell them about Maranda Coulter, their mother who was strong enough to deny her own wants and desires to help support their father while he finished graduate school.

But as a man, I want to be sure that the strength Maleah and Madelyn possess does not stem from a father who neglected them or caused them to guard against pain. I want their strength to grow from security in who they are, in freedom of expression, in hope that dreams do not have to remain distant goals. I want them to realize that they will become what they set their minds to and that their mother and I will do anything we can to get them there. ~A