First, gentle reader, an apology. I have been remiss and have failed to mention the name of the author. Anne Ortlund was a writer and speaker and one of the founders of Renewal Ministries. She passed away in 2013. Her husband has a wikipedia entry, but she does not. I haven’t read beyond the prefatory matter of the book, but this already irritates me on her behalf–she wrote books and music, majored in organ (as in the pipe organ), spoke at conferences…one would think she would merit an entry or at least a link to a stub. Part of me wonders if it would have irritated her. Part of me expects the book to tell me it is my place to be mentioned as the helpmate but not have an entry in my own right. But I digress…

As with many books of this nature, this one begins with what I call the obligatory ‘why I wrote this book’ section. This one has three of them. I know, right? I was skeptical, too, but it actually worked for me. Are we ready to dive in?

The book opens with a doctor telling her she needs a hysterectomy. Whoa. On the page, at least, this is an inconvenience that needs to be scheduled in around conference speaking, overseas travel, and Christmas card photos. How did she feel about this? Even now, there are many who equate a woman’s worth with her ability to bear children. Granted, she would have been in her fifties and likely past her childbearing years (yes, I know, the miracles of modern medicine), but still.

Ortlund explains her calm in the next part: Her body is God’s. God can do with it what God wills. Okay…so no cause to worry or be anxious. No fretting, worrying, pouting, or stewing allowed. Do men ‘pout’ or ‘fret’? Don’t get me wrong, I’m on board with no pouting. It’s annoying. But it also minimizes the point I think she’s trying to make: don’t be anxious; don’t fall into the ‘what-if’ trap. And here’s where she make the first connection to discipline and, wait for it…it’s discipline of the–

Mind. Did you see that one coming? I didn’t. I’m hoping the book talks more about this because I could use some more mental discipline. And then we’re back to what I fear I’ll be reading a lot of in the near future: “May I relax and cuddle my feminine self in the pink fluffy stuff which is your (God’s) will for me” (Ortlund, Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman, 12). Meh. Why, in the name of all that’s holy, is God’s will PINK?!? And fluffy? Fluffy is not what comes to mind when I think of, say, the book of Judges or Revelation.

In the third and final part Ortlund breaks the fourth wall and speaks directly to the reader–not some abstract ‘you’ like she’s speaking over your head but directly at you–as she explains her purpose in writing this book: She wants to help the reader become the best version of herself and unlock her potential. Sounds familiar and not out of place in a 21st-century self-help book. That same 21st-century perspective, however, makes the final paragraph more poignant.

“And this is the woman’s day. Whoever you are–young, old, married, single, mother or not, working woman, housewife–you were never taken more seriously by your world. This is your day” (Ortlund, Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman, 16).

Well, I have embarked on my adventures in reading 1970s advice for Christian women. Did I mention that the book was published in Waco?

I’m going to be honest and admit right here at the beginning of this that I am skeptical of this book and its advice. Those who know me can well imagine how I feel about the phrase ‘put on your face’. (Fear not, gentle reader, you will be left in no doubt of my feelings when I get to the chapter on ‘Looks’.) Frankly, I’m expecting Mad Men-esque ideas about women’s roles and femininity crossed with The 700 Club.

If you’re wondering why I’m reading this, I’m curious. I want to know what kind of advice my mom and aunts and mentors received about being women specifically in relation to their faith. To be clear, I am not interested in bashing anyone’s faith or in writing a screed against the views expressed in this book. That said, 2019 is a different world than 1977. I will undoubtedly disagree with and criticize at least some of what’s in it.

Still with me? I’m about to dive into the preface, which will be the subject of the next post.

No, I haven’t read this yet, but it’s in my (every-growing) TBR pile. I will be reading it. Just not yet. There’s something else I need to read first. And there’s a story here.

Last night, my book club chose our new book (Rachel Hollis, Girl, Wash Your Face). McBride’s book was also up for consideration. Naturally, body image came up during the discussion of which book to read. Turns out, I’m in the minority of women who like their bodies. McBride cites statistics that “upwards of 90 percent” of women don’t. As those around me nodded, I cringed and felt, well, wrong–like I wasn’t a “proper” woman–because I love my body.

I’m beautiful. I’m not a model by any means–there’s a height requirement for that and no matter how many carbs I forgo, I’m not getting any taller–but I like what I see in the mirror. Is my body “perfect”? No. Does it fail me sometimes? Yes. Do I have goals for my body? Absolutely. And, yes, some of those goals involve numbers: 26.2 and 3:58. That’s right, I want to finish a marathon in under 4 hours. I’d also like to master bird-of-paradise again, and I’d love to do scorpion. I’d like to dance at a grandchild’s wedding and have a drink in my nineties, just like my grandma. These are the goals I have for my body.

More importantly, these are the kinds of goals I want to teach my daughters to have for their bodies. I want them to see their bodies as beautiful and strong, as a means of experiencing joy and pleasure and fun. I don’t want them to view their bodies as sources of shame or as an enemy.

Naturally, the title of McBride’s book made all of us think about our relationships, and one member of the group remarked that the book might lead us toward feeling more compassion for our mothers. So perhaps fate was at work.

Today, I checked the library website to see if my institution had Girl, Wash Your Face. We did, so I hustled to the library to snag it before the librarians in book club could get it. It was not on the shelf. Never fear, gentle reader, I found it. On the shelf below where its call number said it should be.

I found it next to a slim, grey, unassuming volume: Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman (1977). Of course I flipped through it: what kinds of suggestions were being given to Christian women in the late 1970s? Based on the first few paragraphs of the chapter on “Looks”, I’m already a “failure”. I don’t “put on my face” or make the bed before I have breakfast. Honestly, the way mornings at my house go, I eat breakfast at my desk. In peace and quiet, and it’s lovely. And no, I still haven’t “put on my face”.

To get back into blogging, I’ll be doing a series of posts as I read Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman and then Mothers, Daughters, and Body Image, and we’ll see what I learn.

Yes, I am simultaneously reading a book telling me to “put on my face” while reading another that’s telling me to wash it.