Church Ladies

Confession: I misjudged church ladies.

Last weekend, I was the keynote speaker for our regional women's retreat. I went into it with a great deal of anxiety, not about speaking, but about being among church ladies for such an extended period of time.

I've been around church ladies my whole life; I don't remember when the anxiety began, but along the way it did. Some of the ladies I knew were quite concerned about what was proper. As I grew up, I felt their expectations about nice tablecloths and nice dresses, expectations I wasn't crazy about. I've watched them wash dishes and prepare mountains of food. I've mostly dodged invitations to join because I was never quite sure I wanted to become one of them.

Then, last Wednesday, before this retreat, I went to an all-women's MeetUp group. I thought I was going to be the youngest person there, but psyched myself up and went anyway. I sat down at a table; the two women already sitting there barely greeted me and continued their conversation.

It just so happened their conversation was about young women, about thirty years old, and how the world would surely be screwed up when these girls were in charge. They didn't stop the conversation when I sat down. They kept going, blasting young women who have the audacity to wear heels rather than sensible shoes and who didn't know they would have to call in if they were to miss work. They ranted about these young women had surely been coddled by parents and never taught how the real world works. The conversation went on for a good five minutes before either of them took notice of the fact that I, too, am about thirty years old. They were anything but welcoming when one of them looked at me and said, "What do you do?" Her shock was written on her face when I replied, "I'm the pastor of a church."

Then, I walked into a women's retreat, where yes, I was one of a handful of women under the age of 30. But I was welcome.

They never made me feel like I was an outsider. They listened to what I had to say. They extended the same welcome to the young women who weren't preaching at the event.

Somewhere in that weekend, I realized that I'd never recognized the graciousness of church ladies before. The requests to join sewing groups and make casseroles and wash dishes haven't been invitations to what is clearly women's work, even though I always took it that way. I often heard a malicious implication about what I should be doing.

It turns out, the requests have always been a way of saying, "You're one of us. Welcome." The requests have always carried with them a willingness to teach skills not known or help me figure something out, too. The requests were always an offer of relationship.

Now, I still don't want to make casseroles or join a sewing circle. I do want the relationships. I think, just maybe, these same church ladies would be willing to give the thing I'd rather do a shot, whatever that is. So maybe, just maybe, it's up to us younger women to offer up the option of hiking, or movies, or dinner out, or scrapbooking, or a Pinterest party, or whatever floats our boats to the women of the church who are older than us. The women I met this weekend would take us up on it; after all, they've been inviting for a long time.

And I'm really sorry it took me so long to see the graciousness of their invitations.