Jezebel

        Snapshot of Jezebel, Today, With Her Hair Down            2/1/05

I am Jezebel.

I have been Jezebel all my life. 
Interestingly, I have (almost) always tried so hard to be good. 
To stand for truth, and challenge what was obviously wrong,
But it appears that I have been Jezebel.

I have desired to know spiritual things, and intimacy with God--
Full friendship with Him, and with my husband. 
But in the process, I have been Jezebel.

This inheritance is from an older queen.  She challenges her man,
And competes with him, and usually wins. Their wounds are old. 
She is not particularly spiritually minded; because in her case
God has not proved himself a force to be believed in. 
That is how she reckons with God. 
She is interested in what pertains to this material life. 
She uses her femininity to her advantage, and I’ve always hated that,
Practical as it may be.

So I have been Jezebel, but I, unlike that strong daughter, I’ve been weak,
Unable to make an appeal (or a demand) that gets a response, and I usually lose.  I’m uncomfortable with feminine wiles. 
I’m like the opposite and backwards of a successful Jezebel,
But I am still Jezebel. 
I married a man who much more deftly parries my ill-timed challenges
And much more powerfully reacts to my ill-phrased emotional outbursts,
But who is susceptible to my “righteous anger” and “fine spirituality” because
It fuels his boiling bitterness toward a world that has corrupted. 




                    ******************




My generation of daughters of Eve were taught to be hot shot independent,
To be strong American women. 
We were not taught how to cherish the sons of Adam. 
This was so confusing to me, opposite and backwards. 
My coding ran along different pathways, opposite and backwards.
And then I fell in with the church..
But Jezebel turned and focused on the failings of the church--
All in the name of righteousness--
And it is true, the church is not what it is supposed to be. 
But have I led my husband into and out of the church?  I have..Haven’t I? 

The difficulty here is that we are all isolated,
And there is no way to stay balanced,
No way not to fall back into the pattern of Jezebel because frankly 
There is no other pattern. 

I have exposed my heart to an invisible God for a quarter of a century,
Struggling against the reality that I am Jezebel. 
I’m a reluctant human
Confused by the forms we take in life, and being transformed infinitely slowly
Into something God looks over and has protected for his own reasons; 
I am finally discovering the pure virtue of being a female,
Now that I’m past menopause.  How odd.  How ironic.
God knows my heart of hearts, and my husband suffers my Jezebel.
Opposite and backwards,
I am in the Big Modern Land of Opportunity,
And I have missed every opportunity it had,
For the sake of a promise I barely comprehend, offered by a God who is invisible.

That successful Jezebel sneers at me, pointing out what a dismal failure I am.
And then of course, I doubt, and begin to pull out the same old questions:

 “I have given so much for nothing!  I have trusted everything to you,
And thrown away so much, at a cost I cannot calculate, and she’s sneering at me. 
Is it so paltry? Was I wrong?  Did I throw away the wrong thing?  
Can I expect nothing?  Then what is this, anyway? 
Why do I have an individual spirit, and why can I think, and feel, and respond?  How can I be wise, when I can feel like this, and think like this,
And be disappointed like this, and be hurt like this, and finally, not care, like this? Is this what it means to lose my life for your sake?” 
Not just for myself do I ask this, because I have lived easily compared to so many.  But this word of yours must extend to everyone, because you are just. 
How does this work?

--It is one of those areas where Jesus responds with “For men, this is not possible.  But for God, all things are possible.” 

Because what you seem to be asking is that I just throw myself away. 
Also, that I be wise and fair, capable and measured
Also, that I not agree with what is false.  Yet, that I be submissive. 
Also, that I call him “Lord.”  Yet, that I worship you. 
Also, that I separate what is right from what is wrong, through this filter of emotion and turmoil and response, and I cannot even hear you. I cannot hear you
It is through my husband that I am to hear you?  I do not recognize your voice.
And he is transparently capricious and given largely to the flesh,
And lately, more, having made up his mind to toss me out with the bath water.
I have no older woman who can see, touch, hear, or speak to me. 
Yada yada yada.  You know.

And I have said yes.

I have said, yes,
I am Jezebel. 
I do deserve to be thrown to the dogs,
Maybe even more than she, because I thought I was different.

So, I live in dread. 
If a soul comprehends in the least bit the magnitude of God,
Then that soul lives in fear.

Yes! I fear God! 
That I live is a constant wonder to me. 
That he would choose me I cannot understand, knowing what I know. 
I know I’ve said that before; but truly, there is never a safe place anywhere
Except as close as you can possibly get to God. 

And in that light, there is nothing to hide, and no reason to pretend.