The Importance of Mom(s)

I smile at my wife as I walk up my parents’ driveway. Snow lines the edge of the street, but most of it has melted. Another green Christmas. When I was young, it snowed more often, and Christmas was the way Bing Crosby would have liked it. That was long ago. Like many things, the weather has changed.

My parents have lived in this house for forty-two years. They moved here two days after I was born. That, at least, has not changed. It is a red brick bungalow with white siding and a carport hedged with hanging ferns and flowers. The big evergreen in the middle of the yard is gone, replaced by a birdfeeder. But the old maple beside it, the one I used to climb and swing on as a child, remains. It is even cozier inside.

As soon as we enter, my dad’s voice booms across the room

“Heya, Partner!”

We hug. I greet my sisters the same way. My mom gets a hug and a kiss. No snow, but it is still Christmas. My mom takes me by the hand.

“I want you to meet my friend.”

“Okay.”

She’s told me about her friend, an elderly woman who moved in down the street and lives alone there. This is my first chance to meet her. Her name is Aluweya. She wears an African style dress that sweeps down to the floor and a matching hijab. She has a kind face and smile lines around her eyes. She is from the Sudan, a widow with eight children, all of whom are highly educated, two of which are doctors in the U.S. My mom has told me this before I met her. I say hello and we exchange pleasantries before I am swept away by the entrance of more family.

My mom takes her friend’s hand, the way she took mine, and leads her to the front entrance. I watch them, not surprised, exactly, but it still hits me with a quiet, redeeming force.

Aluweya is black, and she is a Muslim. That is not a big deal in Toronto or Ottawa, my two cities of residence the past sixteen years, but this is not those places. This is Welland.

WELLAND

My hometown of fifty thousand seems to shrink every time I visit. That is not an insult. It is slower here, the pace less frantic. A walk down the street seems more reflective and less harried. Born sometime in the late 19^th Century, it was birthed on the edge of a canal, which fostered ships along between the great lakes and down the St. Lawrence and out to the ocean. It became an industrial town, steel mostly, and filled with Italian and French immigrants, nearly all of them Catholic. Most of the steel mills have gone now, but the makeup of the population remains the same. Many Wellanders are Catholic, nearly all of them are white. In my high school of over a thousand students, there were two black students. Neither was Muslim.

This does not seem to bother my mother. Nor does it bother her new friend. Both are devout. Neither would ever consider the other religion. Neither care. My mom has bought her a gift. That Aluweya doesn’t celebrate Christmas does not matter. At Christmas we give gifts to people we love. People we appreciate. Aluweya has also brought a gift for my mother. It does not to bother her that she is, in a manner, celebrating a Christian holiday. When Ramadan comes the next year, my mother will make her friend special cookies without yeast. Sometimes wisdom is not spoken, it is only seen.

MOM

My mom is a small woman, quiet and strong with a good sense of humour. She hovers in the background during family gatherings. She takes pictures at odd moments. All moments. My sisters and I have become good at insta-smile. I am faster than most gunmen with my camera smile. It is a learned behaviour.

My father is as generous as he is boisterous. He is loud and fun and was beloved by many of the boys he coached, both basketball and baseball, for over forty years. He has received awards for his volunteer work. That is not why he did it, but he is known in the community. My mother’s kindness is quieter.

During my childhood, any stray cat was welcome. My mom kept a food dish on our porch. We adopted many of them. Mitsy. Professor. Blacky. Smokie. The same was true of any dog. Any wounded animal. She spent hours walking the neighbours’ dogs, or walking the homeless ones at the Humane Society. She cooked for people. Cooked for us. Cleaned up after us. Nothing was done for attention. Nothing to get attention. She taught us that kindness does not have to be loud to be effective. That it is more powerful when it is quiet.

TODAY

The world has changed since I was young. We hear stories about faraway places more often. Stories of tragedy and conflict. Every day they are thrust in our face. We are asked to choose sides. Sometimes they use nations. Often they use religion. We are told that if one is bad that all are bad. That one idea is better than another. That we can tell a book by its cover. Things are so fast that mostly we look at covers. We have stopped reading books. We don’t have time.

But kindness is not fast. Kindness is slow. Kindness volunteers hours at the soup kitchen teaching the poor to cook. Kindness walks homeless dogs. Kindness provides a home and love and care for family. It does not make waves, except the gentle kind that ripple slowly to shore. It does not seek attention for its own sake. It does not counter angry rhetoric with argument, nor ignorance with logic, but acts of its own accord and dares one to challenge it.

My mom will never win an award for this. She would not want one. She does not expect such things to be calculated or quantified, because this is how we are supposed to be. We help those who don’t have. We help the wounded and the strays. We befriend our new neighbours. We do it because we are human. 

Because this is the life for which we were created. It is not a life of affectation, but affection. We do not have all the answers. We do not know what will happen in the future. We cannot be sure what will happen when we die.

But we do know the people next door. We do know our family. We do know our friends and family and work colleagues. We know them because we know ourselves. We know what it means to struggle through a world and life that often befuddles us, resists our attempts to be strong, steals our resolve to be better. And so we don’t try to change the world. It is too big.

Instead, we put out food for the stray cat down the street. We call him Ginger Ale, because of his coat. He is too scared to come inside. And when he disappears, we continue putting out food for him. Maybe he has been killed. Maybe he’s just gone for a while. But we put out food for him anyway, every day, just in case. And if something has happened, another kitty will be able to eat.

We put out food for him, and we tell our son and daughters about it. We become friends with the elderly woman down the street. We volunteer with Pathfinders. We join an organization and take our dog to senior’s homes, to let them visit with her. We are quiet and gentle and what people are supposed to be. We inspire our children with our kindness. With our wisdom.

The world has changed. The weather has changed. But our mother has not. She is mom. She is kind. And she is amazing.

Dancing with
mom at my wedding.

What Does a Strong Woman Look Like?

There were four of them. Young guys in their early twenties, tall and lean and loud, more interested in being heard than working out. Otherwise, the gym was relatively quiet, about fifteen others spread throughout the weight room. 

Bethany set her water down by the lat pulldown machine and leaned over to adjust the weight.  One of the young guys approached, indignant, and said, "Hey, I'm using that!"

“Ok, can I work in with you?”

He sniffed. “No.”

He turned back to his friends and started joking with them as if she was no longer standing there. As he was talking, he picked up a pair of dumbbells and started doing shrugs. Bethany shook her head and dropped her stuff beside the lat machine. When she sat down, he looked over at her.

“Hey, I told you that I was using it.” His voice dripped with entitlement.

“No, you're not.  You're doing shrugs.”

“But my stuff is there,” he said, pointing to his towel, clearly shocked that someone would challenge him, especially a woman. A woman!

Bethany pointed to her water bottle on the other side. “My stuff is there, too.”

It wasn’t until she finally started doing her set before he backed down, though not before looking over at his friends. “What a bitch.”

When she’d finished her set, an older man approached her. “I’m glad you told them off. They’re a bunch of jackasses.”

Bethany nodded, though she hadn’t really told them off, she’d merely stood her ground. She finished her workout by spending a hard twenty minutes working the heavy bag, angry that the place she went for peace, her place, had become a place of confrontation.

When she came home, her face was red. I kissed her at the door.

“How was your workout, Love?” I asked.

“I may have gone a bit too hard.”

She told me what had happened, and I grimaced as I listened. My wife is about 5’4”, strong but small, and this seemed like just another story – one of many – that she’d told me regarding her brushes with men. From the parking lot to the grocery store to the gym, her experience in society was completely different than mine. I wasn’t completely surprised by this, I’d been lucky enough to have a number of strong female friends over the years, and they’d echoed similar situations that happened to them on a regular basis.

   

According to them, when you’re a girl, you grow up with it, and so dealing with incidents like that are just part of life. Yeesh. I shook my head and continued to listen to Bethany tell her story. For as much as I still found it difficult to believe, there was a time I thought I had it rough because I was a man.

Young Men are Daft (For a Reason)

When I was in my early twenties, I had these ideas about women, strange creatures that they were. Fortunately, they were easy to categorize.

a) loud and crass

b) sexy and dumb

c) smart and ugly

d) bossy and mean

And all of those could be lumped into one of these two categories

e) frigid or slutty (Madonna or Whore)

That was about it. Some combinations were possible. Occasionally a woman could be smart and plain, or they could bossy and pretty, but for the most part, there weren’t that many different types of women. Men could be a million things, have all kinds of contradictions, but that made sense. Why? Because they were men, that’s why.

Early romantic counselling for me included any number of older men telling me that women would be whatever you made them. They were mirrors. Whatever reflection you saw was a result of your own doing. Women were strange, yes, but very simple. If you were good to them, they’d look after you. If you weren’t, all kinds of bad behaviours would result. Like pets, I remember thinking. Crazy as it sounds, I did not intend that as an insult. It just seemed self-explanatory. Most of the movies I watched clearly showed what happened when women were put in tough situations. How many times did the woman bungle things up only for the man to save things? Or when was the last time you heard a woman speak intelligently about guy things. Sure, there were a few exceptions, but that’s all they were: exceptions. It wasn’t that women were doing it on purpose, it was just their nature. I understood that, of course. But damn, it was just so frustrating.

And then there was the special attention they received. That used to frustrate me, too. A woman could walk into a room, and a proper man was supposed to hold the door open for her, make sure she was okay, settle her down if things got anxious, and THEN pay the bill. And I didn’t even mention all those ridiculous fruitcakes running around screaming about feminism and equal rights. Equal rights? Women didn’t have to do ANYTHING? Men had to shoulder the load. You didn’t see us running around whining about “special rights.”

When I asked other men about this, older men, they’d smile and shrug. That was how women were. There was no explaining it, so best get used to it.

Writers: Women are NOT Hollywood

Some time in my late twenties, a good five years after I started writing full time, I noticed that my attitude regarding women began to change. My first (horrible) novel featured two men as the main characters. Writing from a woman’s perspective was as unthinkable as understanding women in the first place. My own marriage had been a colossal failure, and here I was, not yet thirty and already divorced. What did I know about women? Certainly not enough to write from their perspective.

As a writer, I’d always wanted to challenge myself, so I determined that I was going to feature two women in my next novel as my main characters. Two estranged sisters, wildly different from one another. (That novel, Ravin, led to me to my brief relationship with a literary agent.) I’d somehow developed close friendships with two women who started to show me that everything I’d perceived about women and most things I’d learned about them, from either books or movies or the “wise” advice from other men, were completely wrong. Both of them were pretty and smart and complex, filled with nuances and contradictions, just like a man. They did not fit into my categories. (Yes, a man can have a platonic friendship with a woman. Both of them stood for me in my wedding party, and they remain two of my best friends to this day.)

At the same time, I began to realize that my perception of women had been shaped as much by the narrative I’d absorbed (movies, books, music) as by my own experiences with actual women. Around this time, I’d started watching Hercules: The Legendary Journey, and when they spun Xena off of it, I watched that, too. As funny as it sounds, Xena was the first show I’d ever seen to take women seriously. Sure, Lucy Lawless was sexy and tough, but even within the campy set of the show, there were more than glimpses to some of the difficulties women faced. That, along with her relationship with Gabrielle, her quick witted younger travelling companion, was quite revealing to me. I’d never watched a show – certainly not a ‘superhero’ type show – that centered on the relationship between two women. Both of them were strong in their own way, and both of them were admirable.

What DOES a Strong Woman Look Like?

The crazy thing is that she doesn’t “look” like anything. One of the reasons I perceived women to be weak and shallow when I was young was that the definitions and answers I received regarding them weren’t answers at all, they were types. Look again at my categories. Those aren’t real humans, they’re stereotypes. And they’re still perpetuated in everything from relational best-sellers (Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars) to blockbuster movies (anything from Michael Bay) to best-selling novels written by men AND women. (Fifty Shades of Grey, anyone? Twilight?)

Over the last decade, my view of women has changed so dramatically, I can hardly recognize the boy that used to believe those stereotypes were the totality of another human being. And as a writer, I find it much easier now to write strong female characters than I do strong males. My only explanation for this is that when you work from a blank slate, as I’ve had to do, and you’re writing from an experience completely unlike your own, it’s much easier to find objectivity when you discover your characters. (Sorry, that sounds artsy, but there it is)

In Second Blood, my forthcoming fantasy novel, my female lead (De Nyara) is by far the strongest and most complex character in the book. She was also the easiest to write. And in my new novel, The Last Angel, my female lead is a strong character that again, one I find easy to “hear.”

In both fiction and life, it’s important to consider the complexity of all people, regardless of gender. By addressing this complexity you neither write shallow characters nor perceive others the same way. (With brazenly ignorant comments like, “Ugh. Typical woman!”)

A strong woman does not have to be an Amazonian princess in the same way a strong man does not have to be a warrior. A strong woman can be a stay-at-home mom or a lawyer or a politician or a nutritionist. Strength is not defined by the loudness (or quietness) of an individual or success in a certain field or recognition by others within society.

Strength, in both men and women, is found in those who act against their own self-interests to better those around them. Their family. Their friends. Their community. Strength is found in those who battle the pre-conceptions and prejudices of society and decide for themselves what they will believe. And strength is found in those unwilling to sacrifice kindness and compassion for the sake of moving up society’s hierarchical ladder, be it for money or fame or anything else. Ultimately, it is defined by our attention to self-awareness, our willingness to look into the mirror and see who we are, to see our humanity, and face whatever that reflection reveals.

I’ve been lucky in my life. I’ve been able to meet strong people, kind people, people who were selfless and gracious and compassionate. But if you were to really press me, ask me what a strong woman looked like, I’d tell you that she looked something like the one who stood up those guys at the gym, the one who refuses to kill a moth in the house and will spend time trapping it in a box to release it outside, the one who spends countless hours developing meal plans for her friends and family, most of which go unpaid. Yeah, if you were to press me hard enough, I’d tell you that she looked like my wife.

-Steve

NOTE: Why not tell me about a strong woman in your life in the comments below?

A Misogynist Reviews Mad Men

Hey folks,

"My name is Bill and I'll be sitting in for Steve on this review. He asked me to comment on one of his favourite shows, a period piece called Mad Men that's got the liberals peeing their pants and handing out Emmys as if network television doesn't exist. Before I get to my review, you need to know that Steve and I are friends, but we don't believe the same things. In theological terms, I'm what you call a complimentarian. That's a big word, but basically it means I think men and women are different, and have different roles to play in society. God created us different, and we're just trying to take advantage of those differences in how we think society (and the church) should be run. Steve is an egalitarian, which means he believes men and women are the same. Lord help me, I feel like a retard even trying to explain his position, because it seems so darn silly to me, but he believes that men and women are equally capable in every field. Whether it's running a church or a business, he believes men and women are, well, the same. There, I said it, and I hope he forgives me for feeling a bit tied up when I even think about his position, because it just seems dumb. I mean that in a friendly way, of course.

You also need to know I'm not a big television guy. I like sports, and I don't mind the Dance show my wife insists on watching every week, but I generally don't watch cable shows. Mostly they're an excuse for nudity and swearing and the rest of the liberal nonsense. Like the one about the man and his twenty wives or something. Why would I want to watch a show about a freak like that? No thanks. Or the other one about a gangster and his family, The Sopranos. You remember that one, don't you? That was the show the TV libs were all gaga about before Mad Men came along. Again, why in the world, would a clean living, normal person watch a show about the mob? Ridiculous. I wasn't even gonna do this review when Steve said the show was set in the sixties. It isn't that I'm not interested in fairness, but the world went crazy in the sixties, and some days when I think about it, I just want my country back, you know. But he said it was set in 1960, which is before all the crap started, so I decided I would go along with it.

The show itself is about a bunch of fellas working in the advertising business, just before it became the big business it is today. Season Four opens up in 1964, so I guess four years have passed. Kennedy is dead, and they're working at a new building.

I gotta tell you, the first thing I noticed about the show was how accurate it all was. I wasn't around back then, I'm Steve's age, but from all the pictures and films I've seen, the costumes are bang on. And I have to say everyone looks terrific. None of this baggy saggy look at my arse garbage of today. The men are wearing suits. The women, who look like women, are wearing skirts with their hair done and their makeup in place. For the first five minutes all I could think about was my office this past Friday. Couldn't tell the men from the women. Back then women liked being women, you know. These days, it's like they're ashamed and feel as though they have to look like men to get ahead.

Don Draper (Jon Hamm) is the man in charge. And when I say man in charge, that's exactly what I mean. I would have worked for this guy! He's a big fella who likes the ladies, and they like him back. (I would be a wing man for this guy). He's the creative director and basically the life blood of the firm. His employees all look up to him, but he has a bit of a hard time handling Peggy, who I guess used to be his secretary and has worked her way up to being one of the boys. Watching her there with all those good guys, and how awkward she is sometimes, and so bossy, like she's a big know-it-all, made my stomach clench. Oh, I get it. She's pretty good with the ideas, but she also acts like a man! That part is obvious. An egalitarian would say that she is clearly capable of doing her job, which proves their point. Right. But if she has to be a man to do her job, what happens when every woman starts wanting to be a man? Where does that leave us? What, teaching or nursing or being a secretary wasn't good enough for her? How selfish is that? Oh, and her hair is ridiculous and she's the ugliest one on the show. But that's what happens when a woman tries to be a man. Smart women know this, of course.

The show moves pretty quick, and the actors are all pretty good. They smoke and drink a lot, but there was a lot more freedom back then, before the government got involved in everything. I haven't mentioned Roger Stirling either, Don's partner. Now that guy is funny, and really smart. Every time he says something I find myself agreeing with him. I wish I had a few more buddies as cool as him! I suppose I should talk about Don, the star of the show. Now, Don seems like an all right fella. He seems to agree with rational, normal people about roles in society. But there's something there, something kinda dark, that makes me not believe him when he (rightly) tells a woman to get lost or that he doesn't want a woman present. It isn't that I think he's joined Steve's pink shirted cast of Nancy school girls, but it almost seems as if he doesn't care about men or women. Or that they don't matter because nothing matters. Or something like that.

Anyway, I'm sure that I'll be watching the show again. I liked the costumes and I liked the surety of that society. Oh, I know that it's written by one of the "Nancies" (with a name like Weiner, what do you expect?) but I'm hoping it will remind people how much simpler and more efficient things were back when men were men and women were happy. Hope this helps, everyone."


Thanks, Bill.

-Steve

Authour's Note: Names may have been changed and certain individuals above may not actually exist. But as James Frey says, it's the truth that matters.

Sex, Virginity and the Law...

Reading the news from around the world can be troubling, but it's a necessary part of examining what we believe. I read a story about a case in France that frankly made me want to throw up into my morning coffee. Here's a summary of the latest news from that case taken off the AP wire. The bracketed comments are my own.

A French court overturned an order annulling the marriage of a Muslim woman accused of lying about being a virgin on Thursday, pending a ruling on appeal expected in September. (It shouldn't have made the mistake in the first place)

The decision adds a further twist to a case that has caused legal confusion and controversy in France.

The marriage was originally annulled last month after a court ruled that the woman had lied over what is called in French law an "essential quality", in this case her virginity. It ruled that the marriage contract was therefore invalid. (This is abominable, and to think it happened in 'secular' France scares the crap out of me)

That ruling was greeted with outrage by feminists and human rights activists shocked that virginity could be considered an "essential quality". (You think?) Some politicians said they were worried that conservative Muslim values were creeping into French law. (No kidding)

The public prosecutor, acting under instructions from the justice ministry, appealed against the ruling, despite objections from the woman in the case, who wanted the marriage to be ended. (This is the sad part of the case, as we worry what will happen to the woman. However, they simply can not let this ruling stand. And I'm glad she wants the marriage to end. If I could talk to her, I would say two things: 1. My friend, you can do better than that jerk and... 2. What were you thinking?)

Thursday's ruling means that the marriage is once again in force until the appeal court rules on Sept. 22. The appeals court could decide that the annulment order should not stand and force the couple to seek a divorce.

***

Before you start wondering why I'm so upset, I want you to think about what the initial ruling actually implied. Imagine your daughter or sister or your friend. She gets married. The husband thinks she is not a virgin because she doesn't bleed on the bed. (Biology 101. A broken hymen indicates nothing when it comes to sex. The hymen can easily be broken through sports or any other sort of activity. I hesitate to even mention that because even mentioning it feels wrong, as if it matters whether to the value of a woman whether she is a virgin or not. By the way, where's the test for the men? Oh, that's right... there isn't one.)

Now your new brother-in-law "discovers" on the wedding night that your sister, in his dull, ignorant mind, is not a virgin. He storms out of the wedding celebrations and brings your sister/friend home and drops her off like a piece of garbage. He then goes to the courts and THEY AGREE WITH HIM?!

In this scenario, the woman is no better than a slave, a piece of meat. The idea of a 'virginity test' is nothing more than misogynistic hate towards women. Anyone who sees it otherwise, I'm afraid, is the one who would be quite comfortable running their own plantation. Despicable.

***

The other aspect to this case is that the court's original decision would have encouraged the already flourishing medical trade in 'hymen reparation'. For those of you who are unaware, there has been a surge of 'hymen reparation' or hymenoplasty from young Islamic women around the world. In this surgery, the doctors essentially sew up the hymen. One surgeon even gives the young women a vial of blood to pour onto the bed, just in case. Gynecologists in Paris report women coming to them for certificates of virginity, and medical tourist packages take women to places such as Tunisia where the surgery is cheaper.

Now I know it sounds absurd for us to even consider that happening in Canada or the U. S., but consider the "abstinence again" campaigns down in the States. A woman 'reclaims' her virginity and dedicates herself to a life of 'purity.' Or how about the creepy Father-Daughter purity balls. Everyone's dressed up like prom goers, the dads in tuxes and the daughters in evening gowns looking all grown up. They dance, they laugh, they giggle. And then father and daughter stand up, holding each others hands, staring into each others' eyes and the girls make these vows as if in a wedding ceremony. (So exactly what are they pledging, you ask?) Here's one example? The girl starts.

"I pledge to remain sexually pure...until the day I give myself as a wedding gift to my husband. ... I know that God requires this of me.. that he loves me. and that he will reward me for my faithfulness. "

And this is what Daddy says in turn:

"I, (daughter's name)'s father, choose before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity. I will be pure in my own life as a man, husband and father. I will be a man of integrity and accountability as I lead, guide and pray over my daughter and as the high priest in my home. This covering will be used by God to influence generations to come."

This is a fairly common evangelical practice in the U.S. and you can't hear the echoes of 'hymen replacement' from those 'crazy Islamo-Fascists', you should. In both cases we see control clearly in the hands of men, and in the case of the father-daughter purity balls, a little too much incestual contact for my liking. Or as one writer put it:

"To value one’s daughter primarily through proudly talking about the untouched state of her genitals is prurient and invasive. It is demeaning to teach one’s daughter she is a princess only so long as she is obedient and non-sexual. When a girl’s value is tied soley to the presence or absence of her hymen, how can anyone call that a sign of fatherly concern and love?"

***

On a much lighter note, the summer is here, and the abundance of women wearing tight shirts and plunging necklines is back up to summer levels. (Which means 1 out of 2 women) I'd like to say that as a firm believer in, err, women's rights, I happily support their decision to wear whatever they like. So long as THEY know what they are wearing and the affect on the rest of the umm, sometimes slower part of the species.

Case in point. I was standing outside Starbucks talking to an acquaintance when this woman, who was in good shape and about 30, wiggled past us in her heels and plunging v-neck. My friend accidentally turned, forgot to prepare himself, and jerked his head downward in a rather, umm, unsubtle nod as a testament to the woman's err, continuing expertise in the area of self-maintenance. (And perhaps a nod towards her fashion sense as well) She noticed the awkward head bob, and scowled at him through her sunglasses for the next five seconds as she strolled past us. For a second I thought she was going to stop and bop him with her glittering Louis Vachon purse. (I'd be bravely defending him of course, by taking the opportunity to tie my shoes.)

Okay, so this is my comment. Ladies, we men do the best we can in the summer. I think it's only fair that if a man slips up and his eyes drop a little when you put on that extra tiny t-shirt that you cut him some slack. Most of us, like my acquaintance, are not Neanderthals. We probably find you attractive and are horrified by our impoliteness. Fair to say I think, that we're not objectifying you, just admiring the way God made you, and as long as the effort is there, please cut us some slack. If you choose to wear that top (God bless you) you have to know we notice, and so I think you lose the right to scowl on the innocent slip-ups. :) (Some guys are pigs. I get that. In which case I say clobber him with the Louis Vachon purse.)

***

Louis Vachon is not a designer. I know that. Vachon makes those pastry cakes I love, which would be great if I could carry a purse stuffed with cake...

***

Sex is not dirty.

***

I don't have a purse.

***

I'll have another column up in a couple of days, folks. Hope you have a wonderful weekend. Remember to smile and hug someone this weekend. We only go around this planet once.

-Steve

Abortion... and Society's Disdain for Women

About three years ago my friend, a single mom, visited the designated government agency -- yet again -- about the issue of child support. (She hadn't recieved a dime in three years) This agency, created to pursue and if necessary prosecute 'deadbeat dads', was unlike most government offices. It was filled with filing cabinets. The office had yet to 'update' its files to computers. This was no 'backward' country, scrambling to escape its poverty-stricken and war torn past. No, this was in Ontario, a five hundred and thirty billion dollar a year province and the engine behind the so-called socialist Canada. And yet, there were no computers to help keep the files updated so single women struggling to support their children could find out where the father was and what they could do for their share of his support. Her story made me wonder. If it's this bad here, in a country that generally accepts abortion as an ugly if necessary part of our legal system, how is it elsewhere?

For years I've watched the videos, seen the bumper stickers, and listened to the speeches. "Abortion is un-godly! Abortion is murder!" And behind the rallying demagogues Christians have nodded their heads in sage agreement. "Jesus wouldn't be pro-choice, would he? He would have protected the little children, what's wrong with you." And there, at a loss for words and without the experience or understanding to know what I was saying, I nodded and shouted along with them.

I remember a high school debate I had in my Grade Twelve Law class. Me and my partner were against abortion. Our opponents were pro-choice. I rattled the cages with my rhetoric and witticisms, and at the end of the class, my teacher complimented me on my arguments. I recounted the experience to my parents later that evening. It was good to stand solidly on one side of an issue and to know I was right. It made me feel wise and not a little greater then the other peons who were still trying to figure things out.

Unfortunately, that love of 'being right' carried well beyond adolescence. With abortion, there was never anything to discuss. I was against it, in every way. You didn't have to show me the pictures, you didn't have to show me the psychological studies that revealed how damaging it could be to the mother or the violent nature of the operation. I knew it was bad. What puzzled me however, were the people who thought it should be okay. How could they possibly be pro-choice? What was wrong with them?

The answer, of course, was nothing. The answer was that there were more people involved then just the baby. The answer was that while the 'issue' of abortion enraged and ensnarled passions across the continent, mostly everyone forgot about the women. Oh sure, we reassured women from our position that they were doing the right thing, that they would only regret what they had done in the future, that they would live with the guilt for the rest of their life, and heck, we were only trying to help them. And yet, where was that help?

For most young women, that is the unanswerable question? The father can pretty easily do what he wants, and pay minimal -- if any support -- and the mother, well, she's just doing her duty. Once again, the man gets a free pass. And the mother is expected to raise and rear and pay for this child on her own. If we -- as a church -- respect life, why don't we respect the life of the mother? There are lineups at clinics (WE EMPLOY CHILDREN, HOW DISGUSTING!) to prevent young mothers from getting an abortion. Where are those same lineups outside the office that collects support for young mothers? Where is the political and emotional support for single mothers in our churches and in political rallies? Instead, we look at them as if they 'did wrong', without ever calling out the men.

Is abortion really about a woman's right to choose? Of course it is! They certainly aren't getting much help from us. The best we seem to be able to do is put bumper stickers on our car. Maybe it'd be better to stop engaging the rhetoric of an 'issue', and actually help. I know too many single moms... far too many... who can barely make ends meet while their husbands are off exploring their 'new' life.

In these circumstances, it better be a woman's right to choose whether or not she has the baby. No one else cares.

Too often, I hear the chatter of 'raging feminists' destroying society. Mostly this is done by ignorant white males who have never actually read any work by a feminist. I know, because this was me for most of my years through college and beyond. But even the most ardent feminist is not pro-abortion. Of course not. Abortion is traumatic, whether you believe life begins at conception or otherwise. What saddens me is that more often then not, the ones who are pro-choice are actually more humane than those of us in the church, in that they see not one life... but two.

What I love most when I read the Gospels is how Jesus continually flips things. He never sides with an issue, but always considers the lives involved. No one ever gets favored treatment. Not the Jew or the man. And yet, our tendency is just the opposite, isn't it? Give me an issue, and make sure I don't have to see all the details. It sells better, and it 'galvanizes' the church. This bothers me, as it should you, because the last time I checked the church was not running for political office nor was it in the business of marketing itself like some populist television show.
My prayer this week is that we would examine what we believe, and just how those beliefs impact those around us. Are we accepting stereotypes because it's easy? Are we setting up 'groups' to condemn because it's easier than facing our own shadows?

No one thinks abortion is a good thing, but until we support all of human life, a woman should demand the right to choose, if only because we've given her no other choice.

-Steve

Men Should NOT be Spiritual Leaders

The class was packed. Over sixty students listening to our professor in varying degrees of participation. Laptops filled about a third of the desks, and while some people listened closely, a number of others had already tuned the class out, sending emails or playing around on facebook. I watched them from a spot near the back, trying to stay calm. This graduate course in leadership had helped me in many ways, introduced me to a number of great tools and ideas I would use in the future, but today the focus would be different. For me, at least. Highly emotional and highly controversial.

"Okay, so what did you like about the textbooks we studied?" Dr. Magnus asked.

A few people responded, the class alternately nodding and nodding off. Of the three textbooks we'd been asked to read, one of them, Being Leaders by Aubrey Malphurs, had set my teeth on edge. It had confirmed my worst fears about the evangelical world, and at times, it was almost too much to handle. Mark had listened patiently when my rants on reading Malphurs had left me emotionally exhausted and discouraged. How could anyone even believe what this 'respected' leader had written? Why weren't my classmates more upset?

"All right. So what didn't we like about the textbooks?" Dr. Magnus looked at me as my hand shot up and merely sighed.

"Go ahead, Steve."

With that, I proceeded to deliver a four-minute rant about Malphurs' book, a work that not only implied limitations on Christian leadership, but essentially stated that men were more qualified to lead than women. It was this last idea, so visible in his text, that had set me off.
When the class ended, one of the women thanked me for what I'd said. I thanked her, my mind still absorbed and frustrated by the apathy of the class. I understood all too well the dangers of apathy. That which we refused to consciously reject we unconsciously embraced. I sighed and thought about my paper.

In one of our essays for the course, we'd been asked to interact (academically) with our textbooks. I'd broken the rules, and instead written a zero star movie review of Malphurs' work. Here is a portion of what I wrote.

"...Being Leaders is a wonderful text on leadership, but only if read as satire. Malphurs' hyper-Calvinistic, modernistic, misogynistic viewpoint is so stifling and discouraging it is nearly impossible to wade through the endless sea of haughty missives to find anything useful. His 'tools' at the back of the book are exclusive, narrow and insulting (especially to women) which arouses nothing in the reader but a passionate distaste for not only Malphurs' ideas of leadership, but for the Christian publishers and other readers who found the book so helpful. It was so disturbing at times, that only when I focused on the book as if it was written as a satirical diatribe on what leadership should NOT be that I was able to continue. Harsh? Perhaps. But then, perhaps we should reconsider publishing a text that believes women to be nothing more than house wives who should teach Sunday school and 'love their children', with apparently no intellectual capabilities whatsoever..."

Needless to say, my professor was not impressed. That review would result in my lowest grade on a paper the entire year. Now, thinking back, I stand by what I've written, my mark be damned. This idea that men should be the spiritual leader (in both the church and relationships) inherently exacerbates the idea that women should not and that men are not only different, but better. It is a gender-based ideal, and one that the church must reject. Being a man no more qualifies me for being a leader than being a teacher or journalist. Much has been written about the dearth of leadership in the church, but when we are basing our choices on physiological differences, (dare I say the word) then what do we expect?

As passionately as I will argue for the equality of women within the church, understand that this has been a long process for me. Growing up in a traditional home and being educated in a conservative environment did much to prolong my own ideas of inequality, though I didn't see them that way. I have heard and used the "Trinity argument" - i.e. women are not less, just different, just like Jesus and God the Father and the Holy Spirit. I have heard and used the "moderate evangelical" argument - i.e. "yes, men are to lead, but they are to lead by serving."
What I've seen, however, reveals otherwise. That as long as people believe they should be leaders as a matter of entitlement (born a man, not a woman), we are destined to have bad leaders promulgate their prejudice like a subtle poison.

And the real tragedy... all of this is done in the name of Christ.

The biggest argument an evangelical will hear/use is the Apostle Paul's statement about a woman NOT having authourity over a man. I won't drag into hermeneutics here, because it gets a bit boring, even if it's informative. What I will say is that hegemony always seeks to sustain itself. It is the nature of power. Paradoxically, this very thing is the most compelling aspect of Jesus, this idea of a God who forsook power to become one of us. If hegemony is found in the male, or the white male, then the natural tendency of the white male will be to sustain and excuse itself.

Christians often quote the New Testament, tell others that we 'literally' accept the Bible, (even though this is impossible) and denote that as our benchmark for not allowing women the right to lead within the church.

That (phallic) argument is fallacy.

If you accept the Bible literally, why are women not wearing hats in your church? Why do you reject that verse but accept Paul's comment about the family? And if you are actually making women wear hats, (Lord help you all) then why don't you have slaves? Didn't Paul tell the slaves to submit?

You see, we all accept and reject certain verses. This sounds obvious, but it is astounding how many evangelicals actually believe they are 'interpreting' Scripture correctly. I'm not saying that any group is wrong or right, only that we are all wrong a lot. And if that's the case, sometimes we have to allow principle, the principles of scripture, to dictate our beliefs. In this case, as I often do, I think about William Wilberforce. I think about the Christians who rejected his notion of freedom based on two of Paul's letters in the New Testament. I think about the endless debates he had with other "Christians" who somehow thought slavery was acceptable. I also think about the women I've spoken to this past year, those who live in relationships, trapped and tormented by men who believe themselves to following Jesus, and yet who deny their wives the very personhood Jesus sought to grant us by his death on the cross. It is a tragic, horrible picture, and it haunts me.

Should men be spiritual leaders? It is the wrong question. We should all be spiritual leaders. We should all be working to lead and to serve in our lives. And those who lead in the church should be leading based on their giftings, not on their gender. We've all sat under bad leaders. Some were men. Some were women. The truth is that both genders are capable of good and bad leadership, and both genders are capable of producing terrible leaders.

As a church, however, we must get away from this idea that because "the Bible says so" when it comes to leadership, we must get away from the ignorant argument "that's how it is."

My prayer is that this week you will ask yourself some hard questions. Does it bother you if women are in a position of leadership? Do you really believe women are equal to men? Women need to answer these questions too. I have seen too many marriages on the verge of breakdown, heard too many tales of abuse and control, because this question was never addressed.
There is no difference in the potential of men and women, and throughout his ministry, Jesus did nothing but affirm the importance of women in a society that had little or no use for them. Whatever we believe, know that if we are unwilling to bend, if we are unwilling to ask why we believe the things we believe and be honest about it, man or woman, we will never grow into the people God wants us to be.

-Steve

How to Interest the Opposite Sex

Lessons From A Dork: Volume II


There are aspects to dating, and I mean trying to find special someone, that are just nonsensical. For most of us who are single, that's pretty obvious. For people who are married or in 'relationships', well, sometimes I have to remind them how tough it can be. How fruitless. How mind-numbingly, sigh inducing, and utterly ridiculous it can be. And that's just the first date.
It gets even tougher when you don't understand the opposite sex. Or yourself. Or what message you're supposed to convey. Or why the opposite sex responds to things they're not supposed to respond to. Or why they always want to be your friend. Or why they always want more than friendship.

This is true whether you're a Christian or not, religious or not; it's all the same, because these principles are universal. I'm not saying that makes it easier. If anything, it just makes it more difficult. Christians have certainly tried hard enough. Have you ever tried to read one of those ridiculous Christian 'dating' books? Yeah. Those are a big help. Especially since they're inevitably written by an old married guy who hasn't been on a date in twenty years. Ahhh. So you want me to 'court' the woman, whatever that means, and then make sure I ask permission before I bring my father's carriage over for a Sunday afternoon ride in the park. Helpful. What do I do when they won't get off their cell phone? Put the horses into a light canter?

I have to be honest, I don't worry about dating a whole lot these days. If a woman thinks I'm mean, or an idiot, or goofy, or whatever, I can smile and walk away. Don't get me wrong, I didn't get to this point because I suddenly understand the whole Mars/Venus thing. (Except for a basic premise that women and men are equal. That seems to be a big deal. Too many guys still attach their egos to their rims or their stereo or their finely tailored suits. It is called compensating, big guy, and its pretty obvious to the rest of us.) No. It happened when the information became so confusing at some point I just stopped caring. Little did I know that I was on the right track to becoming more interesting. Little did I know that I was starting to exhibit the behaviours and habits women were looking for. (Apparently I was showing confidence by not caring what they thought, although I may have wanted to care and wanted them to know that, but by not caring, it showed that I cared about the things that mattered most, which is what they cared about.)

Yup... it's confusing. Some authours try to divide their 'theories' specifically for men OR women, but the principles are the same. A friend tried to explain it to me a few years ago, but back then, I didn't really understand what he was saying.


Three years ago...

She was short, with curled brown hair that nestled around her shoulders and just past her graceful neck. She walked with an easy grace, and as she passed by she noticed me at the table and smiled. I tried to hide my surprise as I smiled and quickly looked away.

"I saw that." Jeff said.

We were having a coffee at my favourite cafe, and I was wrangling the confidence to ask him how I could be more successful with the opposite sex.

"What?"

"You looked away. Why did you look away. Do you feel unworthy or something?"

"No. I mean- she just kind of surprised- it's not about being worthy- I just-"

He laughed.

"Well, maybe you can help me, dude."

I'd already thought about this. I figured someone who’d been dating four girls when he’d met his wife (to whom he remains happily married) could help my romantic skills. At this point I was being realistic. My track record spoke for itself.

He snorted and laughed when I asked him his secret.

“Are you serious? You want advice for dating women?” he said, taking a quick peek around, as if I'd asked him a national secret. I knew what he was thinking. What dork would openly admit he needs help!?

“Yeah. Like you’ve dated so many, and now that I’m back in the game, I want to get a handle on what’s changed.”

Jeff gave me a skeptical look, as if to say I’d never played the game, not at the competitive level anyway.

“Well, the first thing you need to do is not talk so much.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t talk so damn much. Women hate it when you barrage them with information. It makes you look desperate. Be cool.”

“What makes you think I talk too much.”

He raised an eyebrow and took a sip from his coffee.

“Remember Kim?”

I nodded. Crap, I hadn’t remembered telling him about her.

“Okay, talk less. Got it. What else?”

Jeff scratched his head. I could tell that he thought this exercise was pointless but he kept going.

“Well, the main thing is that you have to not care. You have to not care if she likes you or doesn’t like you. It can’t bother you if she doesn’t call you back or if she ignores you at some point when you first meet.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense at all. If she doesn’t know that I want to know her, how will she know that I’m interested?”


“You don’t want her to know that you’re interested in her. You want her to be interested in you.” Jeff said, barely able to contain his frustration.

"But two minutes ago you told me I shouldn't have looked away, that I should have maintained eye contact."


f course! When you looked down you basically told her you were unworthy of her, that she was not at your level, that you would do anything to get her approval."

Now that didn’t make any sense at all. I sipped my coffee, pretending to think about what he’d said, but he might as well have been speaking Latin. What the heck is he talking about? I did all that. All I did was to sip my coffee?

The good friend that he is, Jeff sighed, sensing my lack of understanding, and tried again.


“Women want mystery. They want to know that you’re not easily available. They want to feel special, and so when you do give them attention, it means something. No woman is interested in a man who is obviously interested in her.”


"So... what do I do?”

“Ignore her. Let her make the first move.”

"Except when I first see them."


"Right, you need to establish that you believe you're worthy of them."

I stared at him blankly.

I’m going to be single for the rest of my life.

Jeff stood, his frame full of sighs and smirks and gentle humour.


"Burnsy, you’ll never play the game. Might as well stay out.”

“Wait! Don’t give up on me, pal. I hear what you’re saying. Let me see if I got this right. I need to talk less, hardly say anything, and when I see a woman that I’m interested in, I have to not care if she’s interested or not. I stare at her first, to establish my worthiness. But later, well, that’s when I ignore her, to give her a sense of mystery about the whole thing, and if she doesn’t make the first move, I shouldn’t worry about it.”


Jeff laughed so loud and so long that tears began to roll down his face.


"Oh, Burns…” Was all he could say before he broke into reams of laughter again. I sighed.

“I’m going to be single for the rest of my life, aren’t I?”

He patted my shoulder in reassurance.

“Believe it or not, Burnsy, there are women out there who don’t play the game. That’s who you need to find.”

Right. Piece of cake.


I remembered our conversation a number of months later after an unsuccessful foray into the female domain. What Jeff had said was pretty similar to the stuff John told me on a regular basis, but for whatever reason, I had trouble putting the whole thing into practice with the women I’d met. I can’t tell you how frustrating it all was.

I remember walking my friend Joanne to her car one day outside the school parking lot, when the subject of dating came up. She’d been single for nearly a year, and I was wondering if she’d met anybody interesting in the last month.

“I like being single, Steve. Right now, I just don’t want the responsibility of calling someone three times a day and knowing where each other is at all times and checking to make sure its okay if I do something with them.”

"Hey, Joanne, what do you think about this worthiness stuff?"

I told her what Jeff had said.

She laughed and then nodded.

"That's about right. A woman needs to know that a man will call her on her crap. If he's always looking for approval, it won't be good." She paused. "Would you want a woman who was always trying to please you?"

"Nope. I guess not."

As I watched her drive away, I wondered how my past relationships had affected me. Was I doing that? Looking for approval?

Today...

It amazes me how many unhappy couples I see. They fight on the bus, in the supermarket, in the coffee shop. Someone needs to tell them that they don't have to be together. Aren't relationships a choice? When did we decide that they were so important that you couldn't have a whole life without a romantic relationship? I think that a part of the problem is definitely related to our search for approval. That without someone telling us we are worthy, or implying our worthiness by their presence next to us. (Look, someone loves me. I must be valuable.) And we hold on to those relationships even when they are destructive.


Yeah, relationships can be great, but there are far too many people who are miserable in their relationships. Luckily, I don't need to produce a study to back this up. Just walk around and listen to people. (As a side note to you couples, please don't argue in public. We don't want to hear and see your crap. It isn't cool. If I go to a bookstore to relax, I don't want to hear you fighting over the new wallpaper or whether the crib should be corral or peach, or whether your sister-in-law was flirting with you. And that goes for people (single or not) on your cell phone. News flash. WE CAN HEAR YOU! Go outside or something.)

The voices in society tell us a lot of things. They tell we need this, that we must have that. They tell us we are worthy only if we are or do something a certain way. How cool that God loves us with all of our crap. Relationships are only worth it if they are worth it. If they aren't, then what are we doing?!

If I had figured that out when I was seventeen with my first girlfriend, it would have saved me a world of heartache, but that's a story for another day.

-Steve

How To Repel Women: Lessons From a Dork

The Dating Life: Volume 1 “Back in the Game”

Many Moons Ago…

I was nervous. It had been seven years since I’d been on a date, and things seemed much different now. I’d come out of a long-term relationship a while ago, and it was time to get back in the game. The café was about half-full. A youngish guy in his early twenties was idly stroking the hand of a woman at the table next to me. He had a bored, half-lidded look on his face. He jerked his head slightly in my direction, and we exchanged knowing smirks. Yeah. I was back in the game. Cooler than cool. It was fitting that my first date would be here, my regular Starbucks. I’d read recently that home court advantage was important. I was pretty sure it had been an article on dating. Or was it that article on the Raptors chances in the playoffs? Hmmm. It didn’t matter. I forced myself to smile and slowly fixed my coffee.

“I’m the coolest guy in the world.” I muttered to myself. “I. Am. The Man!”

“Steve?”

I turned and nearly spilled my drink.

“Uhhhh. Hi, Kim. Can I get you a coffee?” I said.

She looked down at the coffee in her hand.

“No. I’m okay.”

“Uh, right.”

Kim was tall, with short blonde hair and an easy smile. I had met her a week ago, and that night the conversation had seemed easy. But as we sat down at an empty table, I found myself drawing a blank. What should I ask her? I closed my eyes and tried to calm my nerves. I hadn’t called any of my female friends for advice because I was sure that it would just confuse me and then I would say something really stupid. Kim didn’t know that she was my first date in eight years, and I wasn’t going to give THAT tidbit away. I had to be sure about our future first. Be patient. I took another deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Much better.

“So you work at a high school?” She said, raising her cup to her lips.

Why did she ask me about my job? Didn’t I already tell her where I work?

“Yes. I work with developmentally disabled students.”

“But you’re not a teacher.”

I shook my head.

“Still, that must take some patience.”

“Yeah.”

I squinted to see her response. Her lips moved slightly downward. Was that a frown? I sighed and looked past my date’s shoulder to the adjacent bookstore and the few people browsing through their titles. I’d had hair the last time I’d been on a date. A lot of guys shaved their heads though now, didn't they? Yeah. Shaved heads were definitely cool.

“How long have you been doing it?”

Again! What is this, a date or an interview? Maybe I should have filed an application first...

“Four years.”

“Nice.”

I snorted under my breath and buried my face in my coffee.

Nice? All she can say is 'nice'? What does that even mean? That it's acceptable but not great or that it's really swell in a different way than what I think it means, as in, its a good enough job for me to be datable?

"Steve? Are you okay?"

"yeah. Super cool. Just thinking. You know. Cool stuff. ummm... what about you?” I asked, as casually as I could. “Do you like your work?”

She put her coffee down and with an excited look on her face told me about her job with the government.

“And next year they’re sending me to Japan for five months. How great is that?”

“Sounds good.”

“Good? Are you kidding? I love this. Every Friday we all gather after work we all dress up, go out for martinis… talk about the week… I love it!”

“Hmmm. It sounds like you’re happy.” I said, in a slightly disapproving tone. “But is this what you really want to do?”

I found it difficult to believe that someone could be that happy working for the government. She looked at me as if I hadn’t been listening.

“This is my dream! It’s great!”

I nodded gravely, and gave her a faintly condescending smile. If only she had my wisdom, I thought, reassured by the noticeable absence in her life. Pah! The government? Enjoying her job?! As if THAT was enough. I obviously had something to offer her, something very real and very important.

Depth.

Still, maybe she could be my next wife. I studied the small dimple in her left cheek, the way her left eyelid didn’t seem to open all the way, giving her face a smoldering, sensual tilt. And I liked her laugh. Soft and firm at the same time. It was time to tell her.

“Did I tell you that you’re my first date in seven years?”

Her face twitched for a second.

“No.” She said finally. “That’s… interesting.”

I barely heard her response as I launched into a description of my last relationship. I asked her a few personal questions along the way, but only to enough for her to acknowledge what I’d said before skimming along again into another vignette from my life. When I finally looked at my watch, I realized it was eleven o’clock. We’d talked for three hours.

I felt a strange rumbling in my stomach as I walked her outside to the edge of the snow-covered parking lot, as if I’d missed something or done something horribly wrong. I shook my head at the annoying thought.

“Hey, listen. I’ll call you tomorrow." I said. "We can make plans for the weekend.”

Her mouth twisted downwards. She must be cold, I thought. I gave her a hug, but she was stiff in my arms. Good heavens, she must be really cold.

“Well, I know you’re cold, so I’ll let you go. See you tomorrow!”

She made a funny motion with her hands and looked like she was going to say something before nodding quickly and running to her car. I couldn’t help but chuckle. Women were just no good in the cold. I waved one last time before heading back into the café to get my things.

One of the baristas approached me when I came inside. She had a strange smile on her face.

“How was the date?” She asked.

“Why?”

“Sounded like she was grilling you. Every time I walked by, you were talking and she had this dazed, almost dreamy look on her face. Like she was sad or something?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.”

I suddenly realized that my throat hurt. All the way out to my car I thought about my date, and our conversation. It was weird, but I still couldn’t remember a thing she’d said. Of course, I couldn’t remember what I’d said, either. Still, it’d been so long since I’d been on a date, I wasn’t sure if this was normal or not.

No worries, I thought. I. Am. The Man!

Kim didn’t return my calls the next day, or the day after that. For the next two weeks, I tried to call, but she never did get back to me. It was very odd. It didn’t occur to me that I’d done something wrong until I told one of my friends about it.

I think he’s still laughing…

Thinking back, it probably ranks as the worst date of my life. However, I’ve been doing dumb things with the opposite sex for a long time.

What about you? Can anyone relate to my ridiculous (and true) story? What’s your most humiliating date story? Post it or email it to me and I will post our tales of relational ineptitude. (I'll post it anonymously if you like) Learning to laugh at our own silliness brings people together and helps us move forward, especially for us dorks. We’d love to hear your story…

-Steve

Shut up, Woman! Aren't You a Christian?

Why Christian men despise women... And what you can do about it...

We were sitting on the couch, and Jer was leafing through a photo album of his trip to Florida. Heather, his wife, wasn't home. We were due back for class in an hour, but for now, we were content to chill and hang out. He showed me pictures of the beach, and I was nodding along until a picture of him and Heather made me sit up straight.

"You let her wear that?"

"Huh?"

I was almost afraid to look at it.

"Dude, your wife is wearing a bikini!"

He looked at me and laughed, and despite the obvious consternation on my face, he didn't bother pursuing it. He knew better.

At the time, you couldn't have convinced me of anything other than the simple fact that my friend was being loose with his wife. That he should be checking to ensure she didn't act in an inappropriate manner like that. Wasn't he her husband? If I ever married, my wife would never act in that manner, I reassured myself. A bikini? What was this world coming to?

I was twenty-one years old.

14 Years Later

The lecture had finished, and I stood inside the little foyer at the retreat center, pouring myself a coffee and trying not to eat too many cookies. I approached Patricia (all the names have been changed in this blog, but the stories are true) to thank her for her openness in the last session. She'd been a minister for eleven years, and as we talked, she began to share some of her experiences as a woman in ministry.

As an associate pastor, her and her church had put together a joint service with another church. The other church was currently being served by an interim pastor. When they spoke and began to plan the service, it made sense that she would be the one to preach. When the board of the other church found out, however, that a woman would be preaching, they cancelled the service. Patricia, showing great humility, did not force her way into the pulpit. Instead, she demurred, but in every other facet ran the joint service. As she greeted the people in the foyer afterwards, the women were genuinely surprised that she was an actual woman minister. The men, however, did not disguise their disgust, snarling and making snide comments as they exited the building.

This is the environment she has worked in for the past eleven years. Funny, gentle, disarming, educated, Patricia has all the qualities you hope for in a minister. Except she isn't a man.
A friend down in Texas has three kids, and she wrote me recently, telling me how trapped she feels in her marriage. Her husband controls every aspect of her life, he never helps around the house, and he is unwilling to admit when he is wrong, insisting that as a woman her role is to simply forgive and move on. He is a prominent pastor, and whenever she has had the courage to mention it to someone, she is told that he 'is working for the Lord.' That she is to be his helpmate. That she is to deny herself and follow Jesus. She no longer knows who she is, and inside her soul is dying, but she sucks it up because she thinks that maybe this is what God wants for her.

She is a woman.

Another friend recently married. Her family life has been marred by a litany of emotional struggle and abuse, but this man, this Christian man, seemed like a dream. Until she got sick. He has decided that she is not positive enough, and he has walked away until she is more joyful for the Lord. He is commended within his community for being a strong, positive role model. Meanwhile, she faces an uphill battle with a life of unsurety, while he 'pursues the Lord'.

She is a woman.

Another friend recently wrote me about her situation. She has three kids, and hasn't worked since she and her husband married nine years ago. She asked him about work, but he has always discouraged her, reminding her that the first years are important. He also controls her life. She has no bank account of her own, because her husband claims that there should be no secrets within the marriage. When she spends money, he always wants to know why. When she calls or speaks with a man, he wants to know why. He is allowed to speak to whomever he chooses. However, openness is important to the Lord. She bravely tries to live on the compliments of the church. That she is such a wonderful role model, that her husband is very lucky. But lately these comments don't mean very much, because she realizes exactly what she is.

She is a woman.

Over and over, I am besieged this past year of stories from friends and coworkers and colleagues, of women trapped and frustrated by these seemingly loving Christian men they have chosen as their life mates. It is, in a word, heartbreaking.

Especially so because I have been there. That is, I too, once believed as these men believed. That women were designed for a different role. This past month, we were forced to read a textbook on leadership that gave two forms to fill out when examining some things we need for leadership. The form for women did not include any intellectual capacity, and filled with terms like 'loving your children'. It was a harrowing and distasteful read.

At what point did we decide that women were not equal to men? At what point did women simply start accepting it?

We know in our society that men dominate women. One in four women willed be sexually attacked by the time they are twenty, and that is the women who report it. But shouldn't the church be different? How have we turned the ministry of Jesus, who radically upended the view of how women should be treated, and reverted to this idea that everyone is equal... except for women? How have we turned the cultural letters of Paul into a doctrine for this continual, systematic abuse? Had William Wilberforce simply echoed the cry of the confederates, that slavery was in the Bible (the book of Philemon) without understanding the Biblical principle of equality for all, perhaps we would still have slavery today. Most Christians would agree slavery is wrong, but when it comes to women, well, Steve, don't you need to be more moderate?

This past semester, I have been pursued, sent angry emails, called out and castigated for my 'radical' views. I am followed, frowned at, and as I've recently found out, am talked about in churches outside the school. Most of the time, the people who are most upset are men. White males, specifically. But occasionally it is a woman. I don't say this because I am special, but because the nature of what I teach is so... mundane. Women are equal to men. Every person is deserving of our love. Doctrine can be dangerous. Mercy is always first. Isn't that what Jesus taught?

I ask this because, and as this blog is especially painful to write, I have not always thought that way. I, too, once believed that I was better than women. Better than quite a few people, actually. Better than the sinners and God-haters out there, I was always quick to delineate what made me special.

However, only one truth matters.

I am special because God loves me.

So are you.

It doesn't matter that I am a man, or that I am white, or that I am straight. What matters is that Jesus died for me, that there is now no longer black or white, Greek or Jew, male or female.

Except there is...

Because, I am a man.

The truth is that we have embraced this seeming bland form of inequality and hatred within our fold without challenging it. We use doctrine to keep people in place, without addressing the person. Didn't Jesus opppose that?

Dear woman, do you believe that you deserve to be happy? Do you deserve to be treated as an equal? How does God consider you? Has the Bible been used as a hammer to enforce your station? My prayer this week is that you will see yourself as God sees you. Fully equal to every other human on the planet. It is time to stop letting other Christians, especially men, walk over you because you are the 'lesser' of the sexes.

There are men, like myself, who needed to be completely shattered before God could slowly work on my heart. But maybe it starts with you. Maybe it's time we started asking questions and demanding some answers. Why is a man's ministry so much more important than you? Why is it okay that he has freedom to pursue life, when yours is locked into a corner of small expectations?

You are not less than a man. You are fully, deeply, and equally loved by the Creator of the universe, who sent His only Son (supported by women throughout his ministry) to remind you of that.

You are a woman.

May God help you see that this week and beyond, and to no longer take a back seat to anyone who says otherwise.

-Steve