Not too long before he died, my Daddy was attending an event with hubby and me. It was a little fancy - not like ballgown fancy but a notch or two past Sunday best. Held at the country club fancy. So I swanked up a bit and set out to enjoy the evening. Daddy gave me a once over and said, "You look attractive." Now. I get that it was a compliment. And a nice one. But it cut me to the quick. Like, "I can't go all the way to beautiful but I know you tried so here's a bone." I really don't think he meant to hurt my feelings at all. He wasn't a mean man - and I loved him deeply. I'll write more about him some day. Not today. Just that I remember feeling a little less-than when that word wafted in my direction. For someone who adores words, there are many more that I would have preferred to hear at that moment.
Funny though, I tend to think much less wonderful words when I look in the mirror - not obsessively or anything - just when I catch a reflection here and there. Lately, the word that comes to mind most often is blowsy. I know. Don't hear that one every day - well, unless you live in my head, but I don't recommend that. It's kinda crowded and weird up in there. Official definition: coarse, untidy, red-faced; a dowdy older woman with a red pudgy face; overweight with ill-fitting clothes; even, woman with questionable morals. Synonyms: unkempt, slatternly, untidy, shabby. Not a great word, based on definition. But I look... and it fits most days. Wild mess of gray hair (hello, embracing reality), reddish nose (hello, Rosacea), pudgy (hello, entire bowl of Halloween candy), oversized clothes (hello, comfortable), smudgy red lipstick and a swipe of blue eyeliner complete the ensemble... so blowsy it is. Questionable morals? Not going there... let's just say going on to perfection but not yet arrived.
But, as is usually the case, there are more layers of meaning to the word. Blowsy can also describe "lush, overblown flowers that are a bit past their peak bloom." That's more like it. I've always preferred roses when they are wide open and about to drop petals. They are much more fragrant at this stage of bloom as well. And what about that synonym, shabby? Shabby + chic is on trend. "Pleasantly old and slightly worn." So, applied to flowers or decorating styles, it casts a positive light; applied to a woman, it carries definite negative connotations. (Not to mention the absences of male references in the aforementioned definition - but,I digress.) Still and all I'd say a pretty accurate word-selfie.
And then there's this. The origin of blowsy comes from an obsolete term for "a beggar's female companion." Circa 17th century. A beggar-woman. Ouch. It is painful to think of ourselves as anything but self-reliant. Needy is a derogatory state. (She's just so needy...) There's this haunting scene in the movie Cinderella Man when Russell Crowe's character, boxer Jim Braddock, is broke. He walks into a room full of men, fight promoters, takes off his hat and asks for $18.38 to turn the heat back on so he can bring his kids home. Some of the men drop coins and wadded bills into his hat, some turn away. It is gut wrenching to watch. And yet, every time I walk down the aisle toward the altar table with my empty hands cupped and held out to receive the gift of communion, I remember that I am a beggar-woman. I am broke. And then, miracle of miracles, wadded up grace falls into my outstretched hands - a torn piece of bread dipped in deep red juice. And I am wholly redeemed. Holy redeemed. Just as I am. Blowsy as I am. Selah.
This is the song playing in my head tonight....
Broken things/Matthew West
If grace was a kingdom I stopped at the gate Thinking I don’t deserve to pass through after all the mistakes that I’ve made Oh but I heard a whisper As Heaven bent down Said, “Child, don’t you know that the first will be last and the last get a crown”
Now I’m just a beggar in the presence of a King I wish I could bring so much more But if it’s true You use broken things Then here I am Lord, I'm all Yours
The pages of history they tell me it’s true That it’s never the perfect; it’s always the ones with the scars that You use It’s the rebels and the prodigals; it’s the humble and the weak All the misfit heroes You chose Tell me there’s hope for sinners like me
Now I’m just a beggar in the presence of a King I wish I could bring so much more But if it’s true You use broken things Then here I am Lord, I'm all Yours
Grace is a kingdom With gates open wide There’s a seat at the table just waiting for you So, come on inside
Songwriters: Matthew West / Jason C Houser / Andrew Jacob Pruis Broken Things lyrics © Amplified Administration, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
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