Wisdom from Little Women

Wisdom from Little Women

Guest post by Isabel Anders

“What do girls do who haven’t any mothers to help them through their troubles?” 

—Jo in Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women.

I have been fascinated watching the Korean series on Netflix titled Little Women, which is a completely original “take” on the intertwined stories of some very different sisters. “Loosely based on the 1868 novel of the same name,” indeed.

Unlike the Alcott classic, this series features only three sisters—though another sister they once had is said to be deceased.  And these really are women, not girls—the youngest, Oh In-hye, is eighteen, but is still in school and looks much younger.

They are “little” in the sense that they have no wealth, status, or even a stable home situation—and the greatest difference I see in this adaptation is that all of the adults in their lives have let them down. While the March sisters had the loving wisdom of Marmee, the mostly off-stage stability of their devoted father, and a society that still believed in the virtuous life—the Oh sisters have none of this.  Corruption, deceit, and even terror stalk their lives, symbolized by a mysterious blue orchid.

Some religious ritual enters into the story by way of funerals and honoring deceased elders.  But there is nothing like Marmee’s faith or a father’s inspiring pastoral duties in wartime to provide meaning and sustenance to the younger generation.

Marmee told her girls: “The more you love and trust God, the nearer you will feel to Him, and the less you will depend on human power and wisdom. His love and care never tire or change, can never be taken from you, but may become the source of lifelong peace, happiness, and strength. Believe this heartily, and go to God with all your little cares, and hopes, and sins, and sorrows, as freely and confidingly as you come to your mother.” 

But more than giving advice, Marmee in the original Little Women lived this reality while struggling herself in their midst. The mother of the Oh sisters, in stark contrast, steals their long-saved money and cruelly abandons them as they try to provide for Oh In-hye.

These sisters widely out-mother their mother, though they face constant temptations to relax their innate sense of virtue and rightness. They nearly succumb to terrible onslaughts. But their resiliency and beauty as persons—and their accomplishments through the plot’s many riveting twists and turns—are stunning in every sense.

So, consider Little Women—both the classic novel and the modernized tale—and what can be gleaned from two fascinating family sagas of sisters who are learning to pull together and to embody feminine strength in their own times.

Isabel Anders’ latest book is Wisdom From Little Women with Tracy Grant.

https://www.amazon.com/Wisdom-Little-Women-Louisa-Alcott/dp/B09MYRFW53/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3H9IL0C84EIPA&keywords=Wisdom+From+Little+Women&qid=1665096789&qu=eyJxc2MiOiIwLjAwIiwicXNhIjoiMC4wMCIsInFzcCI6IjAuMDAifQ%3D%3D&s=books&sprefix=wisdom+from+little+women%2Cstripbooks%2C179&sr=1-1

joanna. joannaseibert.com

Dolphins and waiting

Dolphins and Waiting

“So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm.”—Genesis 1:21.

I wake up too late to see the sun-rising spectacle on the Gulf of Mexico, but it is still quiet, with only the blue heron, pelicans, and seagulls stirring about. A lone “Share the Beach” sea turtle volunteer now arrives with her stethoscope to monitor the walled-off clutch of turtle eggs immediately in front of our condominium. A second turtle volunteer in a green shirt comes from a different direction. They are conferencing. They think tonight may be the night.

I simply want to sit. Something keeps me from checking my email or reviewing my prepared morning sermon one more time. I simply wait. Something tells me to wait for more.

There are no words to describe what soon happens. A white fishing boat motors, then pauses, then cruises by on the horizon. On either side, in front and behind the boat, are at least five or six dolphins swimming, jumping out of the water beside the boat! My instinct is to yell to the fishermen to turn off their motors. I don’t want the dolphins to get caught in an engine.

Are these dolphins being trained for some aquarium? They follow so closely. The fishermen don’t seem to observe the dolphins. This must be old hat to them. I don’t see them throwing fish to entice the dolphins to follow the boat. Instead, the cruiser turns around, and the dolphins follow, pursuing the vessel until it is out of sight.

The sighting was brief, but revealed something I had never considered before. So, I Google “why dolphins follow boats.” This may not be a common occurrence, but it was new to me. It is called “bow riding,” when dolphins surf in the waves created by boats, and “wake riding,” when dolphins swim along and surf in the waves created by the back of boats. Google cannot explain it, but suggests the dolphins are merely playing and enjoying the surf. What a novel idea. Nature affirms our need to play.

Later at church, I talk to our old friend Chan, who knows all about the sea. She thinks the fishing boat probably was a shrimp trawler, and that after gathering the shrimp, the fishermen throw the rest of the sea’s treasure back. So it becomes a feast for dolphins. Dolphins have learned instinctively to follow these boats and wait for the catch of the day. So, the dolphin show could have been related to food rather than fun—but could it be both?

That evening at sunset, I sit again in silence. I keep thinking about how I was instinctively able to sit by the sea and wait and watch for the dolphins that morning, instead of getting caught up in the agenda for the day. Synchronicity, serendipity: the occurrence of events that appear significantly related. I don’t know if my expectancy was related to the dolphin spectacle that unfolded, but I am staying open, especially to more sitting, waiting, and watching by the sea.

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Turning It Over

Turning It Over

“I abandon all that I think I am, all that I hope to be, all that I believe I possess. I let go of the past, I withdraw my grasping hand from the future, and in the great silence of this moment, I alertly rest my soul.”—Howard Thurman in Deep Is the Hunger (Friends United Press, 1978).

The first line of this quote, “I abandon all that I think I am,” reminds me of the exchange of rings in the liturgy of the celebration of a marriage. “N, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the Name of God.” (The Book of Common Prayer, p. 317).

Thurman goes even further than the vow at the exchange of rings. This prayer now turns over to God all we think we are, all we might hope to be, and all we imagine we possess: our past, present, and future. So then, in the moment’s silence, the result is that we mindfully rest into our soul, united to the God within us, and find that peace that words cannot describe.

This is freedom. I am no longer in charge. Doing the next right thing, but not worrying about the results. We strive to be the person God created us to be, not the person others may call us to be. Discerning and then doing what we think God calls us uniquely to do. We hope to find direction through spiritual practices and inner work as we live faithfully in community.

But those old tapes of trying to be perfect, with no mistakes for ourselves or others, keep creeping in like shadows in the night. Living in community can keep these voices at bay. We share our triumphs and our mistakes with others who do the same. Finally, we realize that sharing our love in community is more important than all our attempts at perfection and being right.

We learn these secrets much later than we wish we had discerned them. Listening. Listening to other people’s stories. Then, at the right time, we tell our own story. We are learning to forgive others and forgive ourselves—being always grateful. Becoming a servant leader.

This is the life of surrender.

  Joanna    https://www.joannaseibert.com/