The Beautiful Girlhood Doll ~ Part 4: Enthusiasm & Industry

by Liberty
Proverbs tells us that a virtuous woman “works with her hands with delight,” and “does not eat the bread of idleness.” The truly beautiful girl is one who sees her life as a mission of service. What others view as a burden, she views as a blessing and opportunity.

I was nothing if not hard working. In fact, I often got up early in order to complete all of my school work before lunch, so that I could then turn to reading, sewing, or any of a number of other hobbies. School was something I excelled at, and my parents were proud of me. I studied advanced science and math and loved learning languages. In fact, I wanted to be able to read the Bible in its original languages, so I studied Greek and Hebrew. And I loved it, and my parents couldn’t have approved more.

Of course, as much as my parents valued academics, I knew there were other areas a young woman must excel in if she wants to attract a proper husband. I therefore learned to cook, both from my mother or from simple experimentation. I prided myself on my pies, and even made noodles from scratch. Even though my mother did not can, she had the proper tools necessary, so I taught myself how to can vegetables. I knew that this skill was needed in a proper wife.

I also enjoyed gardening. We always had large gardens, and we children did a great deal of the tending and weeding, sometimes waking at dawn in the summer months to weed before the summer heat. In addition to learning to garden, I found books at a homeschool convention about edible plants and medicinal herbs and set out to teach myself these important skills. I learned that dandelions could be eaten in salads, that plantain was good for mosquito bites, and that raspberry leaves made an excellent tea for pregnant women (such as my mother). I even tried to make flour out of clover. I loved walking through marshy areas or abandoned lots looking for plants that matched the pictures in my books, becoming excited at each new find. I knew that a proper wife should be able to forage for food and prepare herbal remedies, especially if the government collapsed and the country descended into anarchy as we always feared it would.

In addition to cooking and gardening, I knew a proper wife must know how to sew. This was no problem for me as I sewed clothing for myself and my younger siblings and crocheted sweaters for whichever child was the baby at the moment. At one point, the Lord of the Rings became a bit of a fad in our circle of friends, and I quickly outfitted everyone in homemade costumes. I also sewed a quilt, because I knew a proper wife must fill her hope chest with homemade quilts. I cross-stitched several samplers as well, ever proud of my growing accomplishments. I would be ready, I knew, for that moment when a godly man would seek my hand in marriage.

I also spent a good deal of time teaching my younger siblings and other homeschoolers we knew. I taught languages and math, eager to help my mom out by taking some of the load off her shoulders while at the same time practicing for when I would someday homeschool my own children.

No Charity in The Remnant ~ Part 4: Biblical Proof

by Whisper Rain

Whisper stared at Angelica’s letter for a long, long time. She forgot to blink, and the words on the page blurred. “Whisper, are you saved?” She started to tremble… then shake… the horrible descriptions of hellfire she’d heard long ago rang in her ears. “YES!” She told herself. “I prayed the prayer!.. I prayed it so many, many times. I meant it! I MUST be saved!”

Phrases from Charity sermons she’d heard around the house came back to haunt her… painstaking, detailed descriptions of all the actions that “naturally flow out of a life TRULY dedicated to God.” Whisper was not submissive. She did not give a hoot about “modesty”… not according to those people’s standards anyway. She loved her rock music. She valued discussion- and even arguments!- much, much more than the appearance of a “meek and quiet spirit.” Heck, there wasn’t an ounce of “meek and quiet spirit” in her body.

All that and more… a mountain of “biblical proof” of her lost condition piled up in Whisper’s mind, towering over her like a monster. It was as if God himself stood on top of the pile, glaring at her. She was obviously worthy of hell, and it didn’t matter how much she meant that prayer… her choices and preferences, and even her anger at being told what to do like a child, all witnessed against her, that she was nothing but a screw up. God was terrifying. Hell was terrifying. And Whisper felt like she was suspended between them, being dragged toward hell by a force she couldn’t control… her own identity.

Whisper was physically shaking with fear. She sat down. She feebly prayed the prayer again. Nothing. She rephrased it. Still nothing. Slowly, she made her way to her bedroom. She had to do something. Her mind was cracking. She rummaged around and found the dagger she had bought awhile back. She pulled it out of it’s sheath. It was shiny and beautiful. For a moment, Whisper wanted to hurt herself with it… it would be a distraction from the pain and fear that were gnawing at her stomach. She shook her head hard… NO. What if she messed up? What if she bled out and died? Hell was right there, waiting for her. She had to avoid it while she could.

She glanced up at her bedroom window. Through the screen, she could see sunlight sifting past the leaves of the tree outside. It was beautiful out there. She could get out. She could run. Maybe she could get away from the fear- she could find someplace to go where she wouldn’t have to hear that oh-so-humble voice with the funny accent… telling her what a failure she was… ever again. She got a grip on her dagger and decided to slash the window screen wide open and run. She paused for just a moment…

The Beautiful Girlhood Doll ~ Part 3: Femininity & Grace

by Libby Anne

The truly beautiful girl is one who radiates that inner grace which only comes from the confidence in being a woman of God. She enjoys dressing like a lady and being about the business of women. Because of this, others think of her with respect. Her very comportment communicates a gentle, gracious spirit.

My siblings and I learned early on that boys and girls had separate roles in life. Boys were to be protectors and providers and girls were to be mothers and homemakers. Mom taught my sisters and me that women might work outside the home before marriage, but not afterwards. Mom told us the story of how when she was in elementary school, she was asked by a teacher what she wanted to be when she grew up, and she answered, “a mommy.” Her teacher told her that she could be a mommy, but that she could be something else as well. Mom said that was the lie of feminism – that girls could be mothers and have careers. We knew better than that.

My mother wanted my sisters and I to learn to be graceful and gracious. Unfortunately, I was an extremely awkward child and was given to talking loudly. Mom had me take ballet for a year in order to learn to be graceful, and she led my sisters and I through a program called A Christian Charm Course for Girls, where we learned what kinds of clothing clashed, how we should carry ourselves, and the importance of understanding body language. These things didn’t completely cure me of my awkwardness and suddenly make me into a lady, but my mother was definitely trying.

My siblings and I loved Vision Forum’s American Boys Adventure catalogue and Beautiful Girlhood catalogue, and scarce a Christmas went by without presents from Vision Forum. From wrist rockets to crochet samplers, we had it all. While I dutifully stitched several samplers, something my mom said every good lady must do, I also enjoyed making turning our backyard into a pirate’s cove and sticks into swords with my brothers. We children were very creative and imaginative in our play, and we lived in the country and had plenty of space to roam. We had many adventures, aided by our Vision Forum wrist rockets and our healthy imaginations. It was out there in the wilds that the distinctions between boys and girls seemed to ease and we were all just children climbing trees and having adventures together.

As time went on, though, I stopped playing with my brothers as much and turned to more feminine pursuits. I still remember the day my dad told me that I was too old to wrestle with my brothers. To me, that signaled something. I was no longer a child – I was turning into a young woman. I read a lot, and I also learned to sew, crochet, and knit. My brothers resented me for not playing with them, but I saw it as part of growing up. I tried to please them by sewing them a variety of capes and costumes. Meanwhile, when I got together with my girlfriends we had tea parties, played with dollhouses, and watched our younger siblings.

Tea parties were a big event among my friends. We would plan them well in advance, and then dress for the occasion and cook old fashioned food, such as scones or tarts. We would sit up straight, sip tea, and talk about the latest books we were reading, or what we wanted to name our future children. We also spent a great deal of time making furniture and food for our dollhouses. Dollhouses were something of a fad among my girlfriends, and we never ceased to enjoy setting them up just so.

That Evil Feminist Movie, "Tangled"

[Note: For NLQ readers wo have not yet joined the forum, here's a small taste of what you're missing ~ :) ]

by Tess Willoughby

I found this and just about died. As a woman who escaped from my own abuser and “tower” of extreme fundamentalism, I can’t get over this woman’s take on the Disney movie “Tangled”:

Ladies Against Feminism: Mangled Stay-at-Home-Daughters on the Silver Screen.

Rapunzel’s rebellion, anti-domesticity, and general unwillingness to stay put are decried at length. In the movie, Reims states, “we’re treated to an interesting commentary on homemakers and why these captives to domesticity are setting themselves up for eventual disenchantment.”

Say what?

Even though Rapunzel was deceived by her kidnapper, Reims writes, because Rapunzel thought Gothel was her mother, Rapunzel is a sinner for rebelling against TOTAL abuse, control, and slavery when Rapunzel becomes an ADULT! Rapunzel is put in the same camp as Mother Gothel (“If we’re prepared to say that Mother Gothel’s sins are inexcusable, we must be prepared to say the same of Rapunzel’s”), even though Gothel is a textbook abuser right down to the insults with “I’m just teasing” and the use of terrors to control Rapunzel that Gothel herself has manufactured.

I was amazed at the thorough depiction by Disney of every kind of mental and emotional abuse. Like many of the captors whom we in this forum escaped, Gothel only turns to physical abuse when all other forms of abuse fail. When Rapunzel tries to escape, obviously suffering from acute Stockholm Syndrome, Gothel stalks her and creates a crisis to force her back into bondage. The world is evil, keep your light in the tower, says Gothel. Mother knows best. You’re 18, 21, 25? So what.

From this writer’s viewpoint, if you’re in a home, being domestic, it doesn’t matter that home is a prison and you’re being abused. It doesn’t matter that your authority figure has no intention of ever letting you leave, and does not recognize that parental authority has an expiration date or that husbandly authority can be abused until it is invalid. If you leave, at all, for any reason, you’re being sinful and rebellious and anti-biblical.

The Beautiful Girlhood Doll ~ Part 2: Purity & Contentment

by Libby Anne
To be pure in body, mind, and spirit is more precious than all the promises the world offers. Young ladies who experience a beautiful girlhood guard their hearts against anything that would rob them of purity and are content to wait upon the Lord and trust the leadership of Mom and Dad.

My mother taught us when we were little that prostitutes are women who sell their kisses. We, in contrast, were to be pure and save our kisses for our wedding day.

I am not sure when I learned that my dad would give me a purity ring the day I turned thirteen, but it must have been fairly early on because I remember thinking “I’m only seven and it will be six more years until I get my purity ring! How am I going to wait that long?” And indeed, I couldn’t wait. Finally, on my thirteenth birthday, mom and dad took me out to eat and gave me the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. It was love at first sight, and from that point on, I wore my purity ring constantly.

When I was around twelve, I read I Kissed Dating Goodbye, by Joshua Harris, and loved it. Next I read Jeff McLean’s Courtship. There was a lot of other literature too, most of it from No Greater Joy and Vision Forum. My parents read the literature too, though I am not sure when. What I do know is that I cannot remember a time when courtship was not the expectation. I embraced the idea of courtship as wholeheartedly as my parents, and used to daydream about young men asking my father’s permission to court me.

I never found not dating as a teenager odd, and I think that this was for two reasons. First, I did not meet many boys my age. In fact, I did not have a single male friend. Sure, I saw my brothers’ friends, but they were significantly younger than I and thus not marriage material. Through some strange coincidence, all of the families my family associated with had only girls my age, and their brothers were all younger. So in other words, I never had a guy that I was close to, or even really knew at all, so there was never any desire to date anyone, or even any opportunity to court. But then, I knew that would come eventually. The second reason not dating didn’t seem odd was that none of my friends dated either.

While I knew I believed in courtship, I had very little idea about how it would unfold in practice. I guess I figured that my father would handle it when the time came. Every time I saw an article on courtship in No Greater Joy magazine, I hoped my dad would read it and take notes. At some point, dad gave me a list of requirements that a candidate for my hand would have to pass. While his list was not very long, it did include the basics. My list, in contrast, was much longer.

When I was sixteen, my dad made me a hope chest. I was thrilled. I proceeded to fill it with a variety of items, including linens, kitchenware, and books on homemaking. I was very proud of my hope chest, and I could hardly wait to be a wife. I would open my hope chest and smell the cedar, and just know that my future would bring me much joy. I could hardly wait.