I have gracious friends, who graciously invited me to join a book discussion / accountability group centered (initially) around an old book on Christian living (for women) called Disciplines of the Beautiful Woman. My friends have been so gracious, in fact, that they have not kicked me out of this little group, even when my reactions to this book have been less than enthusiastic.

The book is just chock full of motherly advice about how to simplify and organize your life, from wardrobe to bedside table to daytimer. Sounds healthy, right? And of course, the task can be overwhelming, so here’s a sympathetic encouragement from the end of the book, where author Anne Ortlund imagines what her overwhelmed reader might be thinking about all the organization systems she has presented. Read it in your best Sue Ann Nivens voice:

“But here I sit,” you say, “with a girdle in the middle of the floor, dishes in the sink, and unanswered mail strewn on the bed. Where do I start?” (p. 123)

Did you catch that? There’s a girdle on this poor reader’s floor.

See now, I too would be truly bothered by the presence of a girdle on my floor, but not for the reasons Ortlund may be thinking.

Before I go off on why this book is not for me, let me recommend it to SOME of you. If you can get past the dated examples she gives (it was published in the 70’s, after all) and the privileged life she leads (at the time of writing, she had a housekeeper three days a week, and traveled all over the world sitting in hotel lobbies and on cruise ship decks writing books while her husband had speaking engagements), you might find the organization systems in this book useful. You will especially warm to it if:

  • you feel your home and your schedule are messy and
  • you accept the premise that your outward self ought to be organized, neat, and attractive because this is becoming to a woman of God, and
  • you are the kind of woman who cares a great deal about appearance (of your outward self, of your home and “personal space”) and
  • you are looking for some ways (and a pep talk) to simplify and organize your life so that you can devote yourself more fully to personal devotion and to discipling more women.

    •  

    Well now that I read that list, objecting to this book kind of makes me feel like a heel, especially considering the stellar reputation this dear woman has as a speaker and author, and the fact that she lost her husband, Ray Ortlund, just last summer. I truly wish this sister well, and I hope her books and hymns continue to inspire for decades. 

    But for me, this book throws up some red flags.  Take a second look at that second bullet point. It’s that link between our (or our home’s) outward appearance and our inner godliness that gives me pause. Occasionally she states this outright, but more often she implies it, in a hundred little ways. Here’s a classic one, on meeting with God in the a.m. before you’ve brushed your teeth and otherwise made yourself presentable: “don’t you feel sorry for God when daily he has to face all those millions of hair curlers and old robes?…It seems to me the ultimate test of grace” (p. 43).  It’s silly notions like this that make me wonder, “do books on men’s issues read like this??”

    The unfortunate thing is that she has so many good principles to offer: “eliminate and concentrate” (a version of Thoreau’s “simplify!”); reflect on and write out your life’s guiding principles and priorities, and order your days by them; purpose to share Christ with non-believers as often as possible, and to disciple new believers until they can be disciplers themselves. I did actually find some of her practical ideas useful and have even implemented some of them (albeit in my own non-fussy style).  But there is that disturbing undercurrent in the book—so much so that while I wanted to learn from her ideas, reading the book was for me a prolonged exercise in eye-rolling and repeating to myself, “it is for freedom that Christ has set you free … it is for freedom that…”.  There are an awful lot of “oughts” and “shoulds” in this book that don’t seem to have any basis in scripture. Having been raised in churches with lots of oughts and shoulds, and having long since diligently and joyfully shed the underlying legalisms of all those voices in my head, I find I balk at this kind of tone.

    In the chapter on cleaning up and organizing your immediate surroundings, for example, she begins with the assertion that your closet, your bathroom counter, your bedside table “should reflect the order and peace of your inner life with God” (75). It should? Why? Are people assessing my inner life by the orderliness of my bedside table? And if it’s messy, just what are they assuming this announces about me and my God? A cluttered table equals a cluttered soul? How about I just don’t value tidy housekeeping as much as I value the books that are stacked on that table, and given a spare half hour I will almost always choose reading over dusting? How about if my husband and my boys find me way more interesting that way? Come to think of it, maybe my messy bedside table reflects my inner peace with God (and the resultant peace within myself) perfectly.

    When someone writes that dirty laundry is “unworthy of lying around, untended to, in the life of a child of God!” (p. 75), I have to ask the question (and I think it is oh SO healthy to ask the question), “why is this presented as a moral issue?” When someone tries to tisk-tisk me into their pet (but extra-biblical) virtues–in this case, tidiness, fastidious organization, and charm-school appearance and manners–my attennae go up. And hopefully, my heart reminds me to be nice, but to firmly insist that they stop shoulding on me.

    In her defense, I have to say that the chapters on kingdom priorities and discipling show me that this woman’s heart is in the right place. For her, the outward appearances are important, probably because of the way she was raised and the people she’s around, and I really believe that she devised her organizational systems and wardrobe planning in an effort not to be bogged down by what she sees as the demands of good housekeeping and feminine grooming, so that she can get to the Kingdom work. But I am grateful that in my generation, God’s women aren’t expected to wear coordinating outfits and have tidy bedside tables to be considered “beautiful.”

    And I’m glad that my gracious friends probably won’t be too miffed that I ragged on the book online too.