Oh dear. Barbara Billingsley, a.k.a. June Cleaver, passed away today.
Just this past week I'd researched June Cleaver online as I do sometimes and tried to find as many positive remarks as I could. It's not easy. There's such hatred out there for June and for any woman who emulates her, for whole throngs of people just don't get June and they certainly don't understand us who love her, either.
But for me? Oh my. All I have to do is look at a picture of June Cleaver, she in her dress and pearls standing inside of her tv kitchen and poof! I'm inspired to clean something. Anything. To cook and sew curtains and rearrange the furniture. Change the sheets and dust beneath the bed.
The occasional glimpse of Barbara on tv interviews had the same effect upon me. The interview would end, I'd smile, and--if I'd been sulky about cleaning house--well, the sulkiness always evaporated. I'd don an apron and yes, I'd clean something. Or fold something. And the joy, the rampant creativity and freedom of homemaking would return and hang around for days.
I love it when I can just look at a person, or simply remember her, and then feel peace or inspiration or new strength. What power there is in that. And what a necessity, especially in these turbulent days of rebellion, to know certain faces can still nudge you to do and feel right again.
God is so good to place such needed inspiration in our paths. And always, I'll be grateful for Barbara, for June, for both these women. Always, I'll be glad they were part of my world when I needed them so much.
Here's an obituary which I thought lovely.