Becoming Penny Tweedy

I was planning on writing this inspiring blog about how I want to be like Penny Tweedy, the owner of arguably the greatest racehorse in history, Secretariat.  In the movie named after the horse, Penny is this wife and mom who overcomes nearly insurmountable odds to keep her family farm, her horse, and her personhood.  She does it with grace and dignity . . . and in the movie she's even book-ended the story with one of my favorite passages from Job. 

Then I made the mistake of doing an internet search and found out she'd had an affair with her trainer while they were both married to other people and she and her husband got divorced.  Not quite the rosy ending portrayed in the movie.

And yet, perhaps I still want to be like her.  Not in having an affair, for sure, but the fact remains that she took on society, her husband, and even her own fears . . . and she emerged victorious.  She made some mistakes along the way, but who of us doesn't?

And at 91 years old, with the world seeing her as the archetypal "angel in the house," she has the courage to set the story straight, to be honest about her story.  There is much to be said for that as well.
 
So what is it that started me on this train of thought?  Mowing my lawn.  Naturally.

Tonight was Daddy Day, so the kids went to the beach with their dad for supper.  I took the opportunity to mow the lawn, which didn't get done last Sunday due to rain and won't get done this Sunday due to a PawSox game.  (Go, Sox!)

As I was mowing, I was looking at my almost-finished fence, straight and proud and looking like a fence should look.  And I was proud.  Not that there's anything very remarkable about repairing fence . . . I've been doing it for years . . . but now I'm truly doing it on my own for the first time.  No backup.  No support.  (Except for my ex's explanation of how the ground wire attaches . . . he did that the last time!) 

I also realized that I was not angry at my ex while I mowed the lawn this week.  And that was new.  And refreshing. 

My neighbor stopped to chat and said, "You've got a lot ahead of you," looking around at the barn with the broken window (still . . . after 7 years!) and the pasture with the long grass and the pine trees that need to come down because they're being killed by some mysterious pathogen. 

I agreed with him, but I realized I want to do this.  I want to be able to keep this property, and keep it looking ship-shape.  I want to keep writing, finding my own path with my own unique set of skills.  I want my kids to grow up and be proud of what their mom has done, of who their mom is.  And perhaps one day it would be nice to have my ex say that there was more grit and determination and success . . . more value . . . in me than he thought. 

But most importantly, I want to be able to first of all make it to 91--some days that seems like a very daunting proposition!--and second of all, be able to look back on it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and be content.  Not to make excuses, or to place blame, or focus on the things I wish I could have done differently, but to accept it.  To be able to see how God took it all, in His own time and in His own way, and made something beautiful out of it.  To be thankful for it all.  To rejoice, every day. 

So here's to the Penny Tweedy within us all.  Here's to the streak of almost pig-headed determination that refuses to back down in the face of opposition.  Here's to the fallen and broken parts of us that get transformed by God's power, grace, love, and mercy.  And here's to the opposition itself, without which we would stay weak and untried . . . and unremarkable.  Here's to the journey.