Skip to main content

Women of Influence Wednesday


 I'll be implementing a new series on the blog soon "Women of Influence Wednesday's" highlighting, you guessed it, influential women. While you might be sitting there thinking of Rosa Parks or Princess Diana, Kim Kardashian or Bailey Sarian, some famous name that you've read about, someone some little girl hopes to grow up to be like...well, I'm thinking on a slightly different level. 

This might not be a woman who has to hide from the press just to run an errand, she might not be found in history books or on the cover of magazines, she doesn't have 1 million youtube followers, it may be a name you've never heard before. It will be stories of real women, a friend or family member, someone from church, that quiet woman you always see on lunch, that super friendly cashier at the grocery store...that women you always remember for the simplest or biggest acts. Because at the end of the day, all women have the chance to be influential. 

This thought came to me as I was reading a book recently, Suffering is Never for Nothing, and it posed a question I've read a hundred times before. The type of question you're always afraid to really ask yourself, so you skim over it real quick; like what kind of mom are you? Or what kind of wife are you? You read it, feel that sucker punch to your stomach, and pretend you're actually a semi decent person because you just don't feel like dissecting yourself today...

"I said in my book, Let Me Be a Woman, that I'm not a different kind of Christian because I'm a woman. But I most certainly ought to be a very different kind of woman because I'm a Christian. Do you know people to whom you can point and say, look at him? There is a Christian. Watch that woman's life. She is a Christian. What kind of evidence would your friends see in your life?"

This stuck with me, for a long time...What kind of evidence would people see in my life to show what kind of woman I am? What kind of mom and wife, what kind of Christian I am? The kind of woman they would see is far worse than the kind of woman I hope they would see, because who I am and who I want to be are very different people. Would I be ashamed of who they'd see? Would I be filled with regret, embarrassment or dread at the woman they would see - the woman behind the curtain? 

This brought me back to a single fundamental goal I've always had for myself in every situation, I want to be an influence. I want to be a positive influence on those around me in my life, at work, the store, by the bonfire on the weekends. The people I know, the people I don't. I want to touch their life and make it different, if only in the slightest way. I don't care if they remember my name, face, or remember me at all. I want my presence in their life to leave a fingerprint, a trace left behind, something that impacted them in some regard. I don't care about credit or pats on the back or any form of recognition. For the single moment I may be in their life, I want leave an imprint on their heart.

When I take a moment to really think about this fundament goal I've always had, it saddens me to think about how often I've completely jacked it all up. Damn near ruined it. Had the total opposite effect. Who I am is far different than who I'd like to be. I was 12 when my grandma passed away, and I remember the flood of people who came to the viewing to say their goodbyes. There were people there who only knew her as a bible school teacher in 1st grade...and yet she touched them so deeply that here as an adult, they still remember her and the impact that her love had on them. That, that's the kind of evidence I want people to see in my life. 

This was a much needed reminder for me, that I am a woman of influence, and so are you. Every day I'm given the chance to have an impact on others lives, and it's my choice whether its a good or bad impact. Which made me think of all of the other women in my life who've left their mark on me, many I'm sure who never even knew what an influence they were on me. And I thought, how selfish of me to not share them with you. How selfish of me to hide this tremendous love and influence away just for me. They are worthy of sharing. If in their stories, their questions or answers, if only one of you is reached, only one of you feels the influence - then it's worth it. 

So get ready my friends, to meet many women from different walks of life, different ages, different experiences and different stories. Get ready to meet women of influence, and I hope that through this we all will leave behind the kind of evidence in our life we wished for. I hope that we all learn that every one of us, every day, can be a woman of influence. It only takes one person to leave a mark. What kind of evidence do you want leave in your life? 

If there's someone you'd like to nominate, send me a message at darian.wilk@gmail.com! 


If you haven't already, don't forget to subscribe! Just enter your email address and click the "Get email notifications" button or click Subscribe up top!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Being Mad at God...

  I've spent the better part of 2023 being mad at God. Mad because I didn't like how my life was turning out. Mad that I couldn't control that. Mad that He wouldn't heal me, fix me, give me my health back. Mad that I didn't understand why He wouldn't grant me that, to be healed. Mad that for the better part of the last year it's felt cold and lonely, as if a great distance stood between me and God. Only I didn't know if He put the distance there, or I did. I'm not good at a lot of things in life, but I'm good at distance, at building walls. I had to for so long, to survive living with those that were supposed to love me, and once I no longer had to build walls, I can't seem to learn how to stop. So there I was, countless times, laying bed bound, or on the floor about to pass out again, crying out in the darkest of dark, cold, lonely silence - crying out for healing that still hasn't come, for understanding of why my life has to hurt so ba

The path I didn't plan on taking...

Mom was 36 when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember on her short treatment days she let me come with her, because by that point I did everything with her. Doctors appointments, tests, treatments. Where she went, I went. Whether she wanted me to or not. The oncologist administered the treatments at his office, in this dingy little room in the basement that looked like death row for cancer patients. Ugly pleather recliners lined the walls of the small room, you could hardly breathe through the dense desperation in the air. As if everyone was just waiting. Waiting to die. At that age, I thought that would never happen to me. As I grew older, I feared that would be me. When I turned 36 I was horrified it would be me; thinking that would be the start of my impending doom. My death sentence. The year I would be diagnosed with breast cancer. But that birthday came and went without a diagnosis, and I almost felt victorious, like I had made it. I had beat this thing that had at

I look like a cancer patient

It's not like I didn't know it was coming, like somehow I would be spared the inevitable. Every day, as I run my fingers through the shaved fuzz on my head, I look at my hand wondering, is today the day? Is today the start of another transformation? Is today the day I look like a cancer patient? And as I looked down at an empty hand, I exhaled. Today wasn't the day. Today, people would only still wonder, was I a patient, did I shave my head in support of a patient, was I a feminist trying to prove a point? They could only wonder. The other night while my husband was at his bible study I was sitting on the patio, taking in all the fresh air I can before the air turns too cool to sit outside, forcing me indoors. I took a long breath, ran my hand across my head, and looked down at my palm, covered in hair. Today was the day... I blew the handful of fuzz off my hand, and then pinched a small cluster and pulled. I felt nothing, it didn't hurt, but there between my finger