If I can say I hate something, it’s the word widow. I thought often about the word when I was caring for Bill. It sounds ugly, sour, crippled, old… just yucky. I said it out loud pondering its connotations. Widows portray rigid bitties in period novels. Widows spatter pews in old denominational churches. Widows wear long formless shifts. Widows shoo children. I was going to be a widow. I was going to unwillingly assume a detestable title. I couldn’t decline it. I had to accept it. I am plain not happy about it.

I know that very unfortunate losses happen to young women, beautiful women, kind women. Sometimes the loss even highlights these features. Women, in their fragile state, endear others to them in a tender way. Their fractured lives are humbled, receptive, thankful for support. So broken and so lovely. So then why must we tag them with such a displeasing term? At least that’s what I think.

Until this morning. As my Bible app read nuggets of truth to me from Proverbs, one stopped me in the middle of my routine. Proverbs 15:25: “He protects the property of widows.” There’s that yucky word. In God’s word. Couched in a blessing. I need that blessing because I’m caring for property that is beyond my care-ability. Well, I got to remembering, more is said about this maybe-not-so-ugly word in His word. God defends widows (Psalm 68:5). In Deuteronomy 16 we read about God providing for and including widows. The Bible talks about God’s care and protection for widows. It rather sounds like honor. Am I right? Should I go about my days feeling special in a way? Does God honor me as a widow?

I’m still not fond of the term and the way it sounds. But I am a widow. And I will seek and receive all the unique privileges promised to me as one. As I get use to this idea, I’m counting on the hating part giving way to a welcoming part of being a widow. I hope that the word widow settles sweetly inside. I hope I can be a widow worthy of God’s honor.