I am of the class of 1979. I do not remember a part of my formative coming-of-age years when "women's lib" was not part of the vernacular. I also do not remember a time when I did not view the whole philosophy behind the movement as well as the movement itself with extreme scepticism. I can clearly recall 9th, 10th, and 11th grade each holding a building block that formed my opinion of the notion of women's liberation and equality.
My background was with a father who my mother divorced after less than 10 years of marriage, in 1962 when I was a little over a year old. In Georgia at that time to gain a divorce the couple had to be legally separated for a full year so my biological father was gone from our home before I was out of the crib. He never visited. I knew my grandparents, but my relationship with my father was developed from the time I was 17 years old.
My mother remarried in late 1964. My stepfather was a good man with a strong work ethic who had been married twice before and came into the marriage with two children of his own. He took care of his family, but I always knew that he was there because he was in love with my mother. She had two kids, he had two kids, and in late 1965 they had a child together. I was not the oldest, I was not the youngest. I was right in the middle of five kids between seven and one years old.
I remember clearly the night I was saved. Baptist tent revival; 1968; College Park, Georgia. All the uptight white Sunday church-goers cut loose and became more like the black church-goers in their worship. There was a different preacher every night and we were there every night. I only clearly remember the one evangelist who taught the night I was saved. He remains in my mind as a man who reminded me of Abe Lincoln. Tall, lanky, matter-of-fact.
I was seven; eternal life meant exactly nothing to me. I had no concept of death at that point so the normal message of salvation did not resonate with me. But that Jesus had died a sinless man, the sacrifice in my place to pay the price for my sins, so I could be restored to my Father, my heavenly Father, who would never leave me, forsake me, abandon me, ignore me, let me down -- oh yes, that spoke to me.
I understood the exchange required for Salvation, I knew this was why my Father in heaven sent His Son Jesus to live and die and be raised up again, and I knew what the preacher said was true because I heard my great-grandmother pray the Lord's Prayer every single night (Our Father who art in heaven...) before she lifted up by name every single person in our family and of her friends, those in church with known needs, and our government leaders. I marched my happy-behind up that aisle in that church, explained my understanding of what I was doing, and gave my life to the LORD without any misgivings or lack of comprehension. I was the daughter of my Father who art in heaven.
I would be almost 42 years old before I would really begin to explore and build my relationship with any intimacy with Jesus, but Father, Father God, was part of my daily life from that day forward. But that is for another post.
It is enough to say for this writing that when I hit 9th grade and began to feel the pull of bra-burning and women's rights my main response was that exchanging submission to one man for submission to a bunch of women sounded like a fool's bargain. I didn't want any part of it.
Thank you, but no thank you. I knew I was at least the equal of any man or boy I had ever encountered. I did not need the validation of other women or the world to make it so.
By 10th grade I was already seeing the holes in the theory of evolution and finding that the teachers of this theory reacted to questions about it with as much defensiveness and antagonism as church teachers who could quote their Bible but had no clue what most of it really meant. Women's libbers treated those who questioned their philosophy and assertions with the same ignorance and violent disdain.
Every body had their own faith but only the Bible thumpers wanted to call it faith, and they didn't even seem to know with any intimacy what they had faith in. I simply decided they were all idiots and thank you, but I would stick with Father who I knew and who had never led me wrong or let me down. If women wanted to be the same faithless, amoral whores as men -- they could do it without me. I'd stick with Father God.
By the 11th grade, I was a little more compassionate and a lot less judgemental of the idiocy of women though I still could not stand gigglers or women who slept with every boyfriend they had for more than a month; who made fun of those who wanted marriage and kids; and who yearned to be "free" to be like men even as they condemned them as worthless.
That year I listened to women speak and write about how men should be this and that, sensitive and caring, good listeners, blah blah blah -- and all I could think was "and then they would be women".
I liked being a woman, and most of my best friends were guys. We rode a lot of dirt bikes during the day and cruised the beach in hot cars at night. I enjoyed my male-friends immensely and none of them treated me in the disreputable, silly, or faithless way they treated their girlfriends. They were the bomb as long as you kept sex and sexual behavior out of the relationships.
Those three core observations or realizations built atop an unshakeable faith in Father God formed who I was and never really changed throughout my life.
Just this past week watching the new Avengers movie during the scene when Loki is expounding on how humanity was designed/destined to kneel and would kneel to him, I recognized my own 9th grade epiphany and the truth of the assertion.
We were designed to submit -- either to Father or to the enemy. That's the bigger choice; the foundational choice that is laid before us all. Choose this day who you will serve. I lay before you the choice between life and death and beseech you to choose life. Step out of the darkness and into the light.
As a woman, I am called to submit to God. And I am called to submit to my father until he hands me over to my husband then the submission transfers to my husband and in submitting to first my dad, then my husband, I am doing so as submitting to Father God.
So the choice is submit to my dad/husband as to the LORD -- or submit to the dictates of the women's movement or whatever group to which you give your allegience and devotion and be lining up in the enemy camp. I chose and choose Father God/Dad/husband.
I saw and still see nothing but a bunch of messed up women who chose other than God. I have not escaped the trials and tribulations other women have encountered, but I sure as hell came through them a lot better off and a lot stronger. Even as my marriage as drug me through the dirt, briars, glass, and rocks, I have never had cause or call to regret my choice or change it.
I know I can question God, argue with God, converse with God, keep my faith in God through anything and everything. He's not insecure. He won't disdain my quest for knowledge or any lack of understanding.
He will listen and He will answer. He will teach and He will guide. He will discipline you, train you, laugh at you, and hold you close when you cry.
Accept the role that He has designed for you whether that is as male or female;. As man or woman you are Man. Uniquely and wonderfully created in the image and likeness of Almighty God, Creator of heaven and earth. Any definition that tells you that your gender is better or worse, higher or lower, than the other one, is a wrong definition.
From my perspective as a woman who has walked out a good half-century so far -- I am happy with who I am. I am content with who I have grown up to be. I like the person I have become and do not think I could have become this person any other way than the way it happened.
I know who I am, how I got this way, and I look forward to discovering who I am still to become.
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