Everyone has a story. Some stories beam bright and pretty but secretly hide darkness that is yet to be revealed. Others are openly dredged in sorrow and make you cringe at first glance, but then the light shines through so brilliantly that there is no mistaking something wonderful lies underneath it all. Stories teach, whether the heroine is unshakable or the protagonist is a blind fool, whether the outcome is comedy or tragedy. We learn from others’ experiences. There is precious value in sharing and hearing the stories of our lives, extraordinary importance in the laying bare of the soul.

God has met me through story. He has introduced me to the reality of life on earth and the goodness of Jesus through the stories of other women’s lives. Women of Scripture who appear to have it all, or who have enormous reputations for godliness, or even women who have sullied reputations. He has invited me to investigate open-mindedly, to shed my preconceived notions and my prejudices against these ancient ladies.

It’s as if he said, “Kate, I want you to meet some people. You have more in common with them than you realize, so why don’t you head down to the beach and hang for a bit? Get your bronze on and go deep.”

And so, I’ve enjoyed getting to know these powerful women of the Bible a bit better. I’ve enjoyed spending time with them while lying in the sand, Ray-Bans reflecting the sparkling Pacific. Together we have spilled our guts, so to speak. With them I have found solidarity, encouragement, sympathy, and rebuke. Thank you, God, for introducing me to true grit.

The Bible is full of women I look forward to being friends with in heaven, as well as a few I can live without. (Jezebel, anybody?) One woman in particular fits both categories. Almost all of you know her, and you’re either on her team or you want to kick her to the curb. She’s the perfect woman, the pinnacle of femininity and strength, the zenith of amazing. You know who I’m talking about. You can find her in Proverbs 31. There she is, perched in all her literary glory, all any woman can be and do wrapped up in twenty-one little no-pressure verses—the unattainable, overly long list of what makes a woman excellent.

Right now I’m sure many of you are bristling at the very mention of this passage of Scripture. Give me a second and let me try and win you over. We all need biblical instruction. We live in a wishy-washy culture shaken and stirred by loud voices selling opposing versions of what it means to be a woman. Meanwhile we carry the baggage acquired from personal experience and navigating the truckloads of Christian books written about what a godly girl should be. We have found ourselves in a confused whirlwind state on the topic of femininity, which has got to stop. I’m convinced it’s not as complicated as we have been led to believe.

I’m asking you now to walk away from any notions that have been stewing around in your heart and mind since you got your first period and realized there was no going back on this womanhood thing. Set down the movies, books, well-meaning church ladies and aunties, pop stars and nuns, and pick up your Bible. Bring on the pure Word of God, not another person’s interpretation. Don’t be stuffed in a box made by human hands or be burdened by another era’s or individual’s version of femininity’s rules.

Let’s check it out for ourselves with fresh eyes and give this girl another look. Admittedly, Proverbs 31’s description of the ultimate woman feels both aspirational and completely unrealistic at first. She works hard, she brings in cash, she has foresight and intelligence, she’s generous, she has a great reputation, she’s creative and industrious, and her Etsy shop is going off. She even wears beautiful clothing she has made herself. She’s so cool . . . but she’s also the girl we love to hate!

She’s like all the pins in your Pinterest account. She’s the hairdo you’re itching to try, or the picture of the girl whose yoga pants make her butt look so good it brings inspiration to your “workout” board. She’s the salads and smoothies you want to make with all the produce from your local organic farm, or maybe the maple bacon cupcakes or gourmet vegan doughnuts, or whatever you’re into. This mystery Proverbs 31 woman is the ultimate Pinterest pin for awesomeness. Strength, dignity, bravery, trust, creativity, ingenuity, kindness—she’s legit. I have mad respect for her and all, but, honestly, she bugs me with all that amazingness.

My husband, who knows me better than I know myself, has gently informed me that I’m defensive when it comes to correction or any type of conflict. (No, I’m not!) I can’t stand the thought of not being awesome, and naturally awesome at that—the very inventor of awesome. I want to be an awesome wife, an awesome mom, an awesome daughter, an awesome friend, an awesome Christian, an awesome person. Yet when you stand me next to the biblical paragon of female awesome, well . . . let’s just say it’s why we don’t want to hang out with the bride too long at a wedding. Radiant beauty makes everything around it appear shabby. Thanks, Proverbs 31 woman, for making the rest of us look bad. I’m sure you didn’t mean to.

I know every single one of us fears or at least is aware of others’ opinions. It’s not just me. None of us wants to expose our own mangy selves to the watching world. We post pictures of carefully made-up faces, body shots taken at angles most flattering. We show off our party decor, our brightest days, our Sunday best. Fabulous is the new normal.

I’ve historically gone with the opposite strategy; I don’t want anyone to think I’m someone I’m not. I tend to take extreme measures to ensure people get what they see, because I don’t want to disappoint people down the road as they get to know the real me. I’ve even gone so far as to behave like a cavewoman on the first date with my now-husband.

I’ve always been a girl who could pack it away. I like food, and when you’ve spent the day surfing and running around on the beach, you can work up a fierce hunger. So, at dinner that first night, I ordered whatever sounded good to my growling stomach—unlike the modus operandi of women in America, who prefer to appear dainty and order “just a small salad, I’m really not that hungry.” Liars. A whole country of single women lying to potential suitors.

Not me. I decided I didn’t want this guy to realize one day that I wasn’t who he signed up for, so I went for it. We sat there, and I slurped and gulped and relished and licked the bowl. Okay, I didn’t lick the bowl in a public place, but I’ve got no shame at home. Meantime, he sat across from me, having ordered a small plate of lasagna. He wiped his mouth in between bites like a gentleman. So cute.

Later, when he brought me home to have dinner with his parents, I again opted for my usual portion: piled high. His mom is a great cook, and I was nineteen with the metabolism of, well, a nineteen-year-old who is superactive. Again, I enjoyed every bite. We had a lovely dinner. I charmed Britt’s dad with a comment about how he looks just like Eric Clapton then later said good-bye while blithely leaning against my powder-blue ’71 VW Squareback. I wore Doc Martens, thrift store 501s for men, a maroon mock turtleneck bodysuit, and a bomber jacket. Superhot in a nineties kind of way. What I found out later was that after I left, when Britt asked his parents what they thought about me, his dad said, in his deep, contemplative voice, “Well, son, you should be careful about a girl who eats more than you do.”

So much for attempting to avoid letting others down. As a side note, I have since entered the twenty-first century and cleaned up my manners, but I still tend to be very transparent—whether I’m meeting someone for the first time (what would you like to know about my checkered past?), speaking from a pulpit (I have been known to talk freely about regrettably embarrassing things), or with old and dear friends (lamenting formerly perky body parts, anyone?). No surprises here, people.

But hey, before we succumb to our own puny issues, before we hate on our P31 girl for making the rest of us look bad, let’s just remember that she wasn’t an actual person! She was a description of the ultimate woman given by a wise mama to her kingly son.

I’m sure, when the time comes for my son to marry, I’ll encourage him to shoot for the best. He is my son, after all . . . I would do anything for that kid. No really, anything. Like, I’d scratch the eyes out of any girl who would break his heart or treat him badly. I mean it. And I’m sure this queen wouldn’t think twice before putting a fair maiden who wasn’t fit for her prince in a headlock.

So when we read about P31 girl and her awesomeness, let’s not berate ourselves because we don’t measure up. Let’s be grateful we have a good model. We learn by example, and if we didn’t have stellar examples to aspire to, we would likely aim for mediocre. So even though this model woman sounds annoyingly unrealistic, you know what they say: shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.

Take a look at this passage again, freeing yourself from cultural implications. Set aside your personal preferences and experiences, and you will be inspired by the strength, the creativity, the honor, and the wisdom and purpose this woman possesses. Go ahead. Read it. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

When I read this passage with an open heart, what I really home in on, what helps me not get hung up on all the ways we fall short, is verse 25: “She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.”

Laughing without fear. I have such longing to be in a place in life where I can indulge in this seemingly simple activity, this innocent and lovely thing. I absolutely love to laugh. Until 2009 I would say it was a defining characteristic of my whole life. I’ve been known to laugh at inappropriate times—such as, but not limited to, funerals (story coming) and weddings (I once had to crawl under the table because I could not stop crying/laughing). I was raised to have the most fun humanly possible, to surf my guts out and dance at weddings, to giggle for sport.

But the reality is, the recent years have been about crying. Shedding tears is such a frequent occurrence that it has become part of my identity. Sorrow has cut deeply into my previous life’s goal of carefree fun.

I know it’s true for some of you too. Some of us are identified by tears of tragedy and some by tears of sin. Life is harsh. We walk around with scarlet letters on our chests. Mine is posted large and loud for my small town to see—the glaring B for bereavement. Others bear the quintessential A for adultery or the I for infertility. Perhaps some have a blazing S for substance abuse or the excruciatingly prevalent D for divorce. We the broken are easily identifiable.

We haven’t all been the Proverbs 31 woman. She’s not even on the radar for some. Most of us can’t say our choices have been so good, so godly, that we have no fear of them bringing anything other than blessing. I would bet each one of us has made a few messes in our lives. I have. The effects linger and begin to show up on our countenances—lines and blemishes that weren’t there before. It’s a very real thing to read about this fictitiously flawless woman and think, I’m not her. In fact, my choices stink, and my life shows it. I wouldn’t even know where to start, how to scrub clean and bandage the wounds enough to get to the business of godliness. Sometimes it’s tempting to throw in the towel and give in to darkness, give in to foolishness, and give up.

But even when we do all we can to meticulously make the right choices, to fill our charts with gold stars, the poop still hits the fan. Loyal spouses suffer betrayal, healthy people become debilitated in accidents that weren’t their fault, talented and hardworking people lose their jobs when the company sells . . . Even moms who do everything they can for their sick little girls end up with their hearts broken. Without warning we can lose the very things we grasped with every ounce of strength. It seems, sometimes, that this life is far out of our control.

Maybe even most of the time, it’s difficult to believe God’s goodness to us. All the felicitous promises from the Bible fall on deaf ears, only to bounce off and roll under the couch, lost among the dust bunnies and missing puzzle pieces. Who can actually laugh when life is so cruel? Apparently not someone who has lived any real life.

I’m tempted to think of the writer of Proverbs 31 as a girl who was naïve, silly, and inexperienced in reality. Come on—who on earth writes this stuff? Who was this bright-eyed and bushy-tailed champion of holiness and optimism? Let’s just say the answer to these irascible questions is a tad unexpected.

Many Bible commentators agree that the writer of the last chapter of Proverbs was most likely Bathsheba. Remember her? You know that girl. What’s she famous for? Bathing on the roof of her house. Yeah, I totally have the visual too. Beautiful spring day, long luscious locks, pre-baby body. That’s probably how most of us remember her. The girl whose beauty and nudity enticed a handsome king to warm his bed for a night. Not the best of first impressions.

We can make our judgments about her and call her all sorts of colorful names, but the bottom line is—the 2 Samuel account does not tell us whether she was showing off or attempting to do her thing modestly. I’m not gonna lie; it does sound sketchy. I mean, in my imagination she was running water through her hair, head tipped back like a risqué shampoo commercial, not so much scrubbing her armpits.

Did she have a servant holding up a sheet, or was she secretly pleased to be watched by a handsome king? We don’t know. What she was doing was bathing in the mikveh, performing the ritual cleansing bath Jewish women take when they are finished with their monthly period. It signified that she was purified and ready for her husband after two weeks of abstinence. So on the day Bathsheba was beckoned by the king, she was supposed to have been home making babies with Uriah—her strapping soldier husband—but he was away at war.

The Bible is silent as to whether or not Bathsheba welcomed an adulterous relationship with David, but the more I get to know Bathsheba, my guess is his advance was scary and unwanted. Chances are she didn’t have much of a choice. After the whole sordid experience, she undoubtedly felt heavy under the weight of sin, having been used by the king for a night of pleasure and then forgotten. I’m casting my vote in favor of Bathsheba’s integrity, but if I find out one day in heaven that she was just as much at fault as David, well . . . none of us is better than she. Most of us have made some pretty heinous mistakes. I’ve decided I love her regardless of blame and admire the woman she became, which is the whole reason we are even talking about her.

Apparently, after the infamous escapade, her pregnancy was the only reason that Bathsheba’s involvement with David went any further. Enough time had gone by for her to realize the consequence of their illicit union, and she sent word of her pregnancy to the king by way of a note. Can you imagine? I mean, what do you say to the dude who made you his booty call, got you pregnant while your husband was out risking his neck for the kingdom, and then went on his merry way?

Did she want to pour out her heart, claim his love? Did she want to let him know this was not her usual, that she was not that kind of girl? Did she want to cuss him out? Were there tear stains on the note? Perfume? Was it folded carefully in the shape of those notes we passed in high school? Or was she worried the messenger would read it and feel the need to divulge the most iniquitous secret she held? It seemed her very fate was sealed up in that little message, that terse note that said simply “I’m pregnant.”

Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, is described as one of David’s “mighty men.” He had been out fighting that spring with the rest of the Israelite army, so there was no valid excuse for the origin of her growing child. I can imagine the terror Bathsheba felt, the sickening guilt, the desire for cleanliness. I imagine she felt like a trapped animal, caged and awaiting a formidable master. Trembling at the consequences of a sin that would soon become obvious, that would make her an outcast worthy of the death penalty.

But the Lord knew. He knew there was more for this precious woman than being used for a one-night stand, more in store for her than a lifetime of regret and fear and hunger and shame. He had more life for her to experience: highs and lows, joys and sorrows, and a calling marked by dignity and wisdom. There was forgiveness and more heartache to come, but most of all there was a chance in the future to bring God glory. A chance to encourage women over the millennia and a chance to walk again, her head held high with the beauty of strength and wisdom and purpose.

We don’t know everything about Bathsheba, but we do know for sure that she had much to cry about. She was not only scandalously used by the king and illegitimately pregnant, but her husband Uriah—who apparently was a great guy, serving his country and refusing to flake out on his men even when David offered him leave to come home and sleep with Bathsheba—was murdered by David to cover up his sin. The baby boy she conceived with David died soon after he was born, and Bathsheba became one of David’s many wives. She was taken from a good life with a good man to live a lonely life among many other women who were used and kept like property. Pretty sure I’d hate to live in a harem that shared a husband, regardless of all the free swag.

God eventually comforted Bathsheba’s numerous losses with a son: Solomon. Someone to love and care for, someone to share closeness and affection, someone to raise up and encourage. Years later when he became a grown man and king, his loving mother wrote words of wisdom to him. And so we have the last chapter of Proverbs, in which she described the internationally famous, worthy woman of nobility and kindness.

Bathsheba didn’t have a perfect life free of sin and bummers and tragedy. Despite being a wife of the king, she did not live on easy street. But she grew up. She became the mother of the future king, and something stirred in her that said, Look, this is what is good. This is where you want to be; this is what’s wise and beautiful and full of honor. She had seen pain and sin and betrayal firsthand and suffered consequences out of her control. She had felt the devastation of love and death and despair. She had mourned the murder of her husband and the loss of her infant son. The woman had some street cred, which changes everything for me when I read her words to Solomon, her description of an excellent woman.

No longer do I balk at these lofty verses. No longer do I desire to throw them out, assuming that the writer was judgmental, legalistic, and riding a high horse. Instead, I accept them, respect them, and desire to live them out. The woman behind them was real, broken, and had risen above.

Real-life stories bring salve to a wounded soul. Knowing Bathsheba and I share in some sad experiences draws me deep into her life, and seeing her rise from the ashes buoys my confidence in God’s goodness—that I, too, will survive the great loss.

I stumbled upon Bathsheba in the months following Daisy’s death, after the laziness subsided and the bitterness began to settle. It was a kind of grief support group; we shared stories, compared lots. Like when you get a sponsor to see you through the hardest months of healing from addiction, she was there for me. When I was the only woman I knew who had experienced death so close to my heart, I remembered how she had too. In the quiet hours of a house bereft of the shouts and footsteps of a child, she whispered strength, dignity, and fearlessness. When I was comforted with a pregnancy, I remembered she had been too. She showed me how to be loyal to another child while grieving the first. She held my hand in the gloom, leaned close to my ear, and whispered, “Me too.”

On the days that I felt publicly conspicuous, the unfortunate B emblazoned upon me, she walked beside me wearing the same letter. I was not alone. I started to look up, to see and understand that there is life beyond the hurt. I felt some of the heaviness lifting at the very thought of sharing in such hardship.

Because I had a friend in Bathsheba, because of her story, I could count on her example. The first few times that I had opportunity to laugh during those early days of mourning, it felt foreign. It felt wrong, sacrilegious, amiss. But I had seen her mourn, I had read her story of strength, and I had experienced the reality of her loneliness and shame. I knew that she would one day tell her son that an excellent woman laughs without fear of the future—not because she is perfect or her life is perfect, but because it is good and right and honors God. So began my freedom to giggle, my freedom to reclaim the goodness of the life God had given me. A beginning that opened up the way to healing.

Perhaps my favorite thing about Bathsheba and Proverbs 31 is that after her crazy messy life she can tell you that the future is worth smiling about. Dignity and strength are beautiful, and kindness wins over manipulation and harshness. The Holy Spirit through Bathsheba is worth listening to, I think. I want to breathe the air she breathes, laugh the way she laughs. I want to say with all confidence that I, like Bathsheba, can come through some of life’s most brutal beatings and still be kind, still be strong, still laugh without fear.