The Emancipated Woman

I found the slightly yellowed paper, tucked away in an old file folder.  When did I write this, I wondered.  Was it twenty five years ago?  Twenty eight, perhaps.  I suddenly envisioned the slim, dark haired young mother that had been me.  Somehow, I couldn’t separate her from the little boys running in and out of the back door diverting her attention from her writing desk.  It was so long ago.  Through the mists of time, I tried to recall what had prompted this article, typed on a pre-computer machine.  Had it been a reaction to a women’s "lib" campaign, a magazine article, the trends of the day, or was it just the off handed comment by another woman supposed to challenge my seeming complacency with life as a happily married woman?  I could not remember.  Had I meant it for publication or just for my own exercise of putting my thoughts on paper?  That, too, had slipped away.  The motivation and the moment may have been lost in the multitude of events of my then young life, but the thoughts on the page were crystal clear.  Surely written in the early 70's, the words were just as relevant to me this year before the 21st century.  Composed as a young mother, it was just as true in my heart now that I was a middle aged grandmother.  Though the paper looked old, the message was just as pertinent.  My older eyes read with agreement what I had written that day:

THE DECLARATION OF AN EMANCIPATED WOMAN

I am proud to be a woman.  A feminine woman is beautiful.  I am glad that although I am not physically beautiful, my husband tells me that I am, and thankful that he can see beauty in me.  I do not resent the time I spend trying to improve my appearance for him, but rejoice that I have the desire to do it.  I pray that I can develop the inner quality of lasting beauty that will endure beyond the physical.  I will endeavor to cultivate my femininity through time and effort.  I do not resent that from my earliest moments there has been someone to cherish me singularly because I was a female.  I cherish the remembrance that I was "Daddy’s little girl" and that I was treated differently than if I had been a boy.  This did not inhibit my ambitions or lower my standards, but helped me conceive of my femininity as something in which to be proud.  I am thankful I had a mother who was proud of herself as a woman, and had developed her self-esteem and ambition sufficiently to allow me to glimpse the type of woman I could be.  Furthermore, I rejoice in the type of family love I had that allowed me to develop my own sense of self-worth and the desire to serve a family of my own.

I am glad for my position of service to my family.  I recognize the awesome responsibilities and influence that God has given to me as a wife and mother.  I pray that I may temper my position of disciplinarian and counselor with wisdom, always mindful of my children’s growth.  I also pray that I will not become overcome at the thought of this influence and responsibility toward my family, but be given the strength to carry out my duties.  I am grateful, that in His wisdom, God has given me glimpses of the tender and humorous, even in times of turmoil and chaos in my everyday encounters with childish misbehavior.  I am also thankful for the indescribable joy and sense of accomplishment bearing children has given me and for the totally sentimental and tender feeling of holding that newborn child to my bosom.

I am constantly grateful that as a woman in our culture, I can express such a wide scope of emotions.  I can revel in sentimentality or overflow with tears, I can enjoy day dreams and yet become totally absorbed in the practical.  I am not ashamed that at moments I may desire to feel totally dependent and cherished as a weak little woman and yet proud that, after all, there are so many things that only I as a woman can accomplish.  I am relieved that I do not have insecure drives to do all things as well as or better than a man and thankful I was given a man who does so many things for me.

I am thankful for the loving man who raised me to the status of wife.  I am constantly surprised that he can see me in all phases of order and disorder and still say he loves me.  I do not reject, but am glad in the fact that I am the sexual object of his affections.  I am glad that the complexity of our love can be fulfilled not only in the sexual act but in the sexual moments that are expressed by only a look or a gentle touch while the busy day goes on around us.  I am satisfied to let him feel he must shelter and protect and provide for me even in areas where I could fare reasonably well myself.  I am not envious of his masculinity but awed by the delicate, yet vital interaction of it upon my femininity.  I am indeed pleased that my sons have always treated me differently from their father, as it is an assurance that they are aware of the wonderful differences of the sexual roles.  Furthermore, I look forward to the time they will feel compelled to protect and shelter me after so many years of my doing the same for them.  I am hopeful that the way they treat their own wives may be an outgrowth of their respect for me.

I shall strive for a vision of my individual responsibility to the world.  I hope for healthy involvement to make that world a better place for all children to grow up in, mindful of the many seemingly small acts I can perform in my own home and community.  As I strive for this involvement, may I never lose sight of the fact that my family is my own special world.  That only I, as a mother, may have that particular influence on my own children which no other woman can substitute.  I am proud of the career I have realized as a wife and mother that is not insignificant but indeed very important.  I am hopeful that if I had been given another career in addition to motherhood, that I would have had the wisdom to see it in its proper perspective, not frustrated in my desire for outside recognition but confident in my fulfillment as an individual woman in whatever position I might find myself at home or away.  If I at anytime become envious of career women, God grant me the vision of my own prestigious realm of influence as a woman.  When I become discouraged in my daily tasks and seem to fail with my children, may I be steadfast in my duties until they carry me through to a moment of triumph and accomplishment.

Finally, God, thank You for making me as a woman with all the many different implications of my unique role in life.  Thank You for my responsibilities and thank You for the accomplishments they bring.  Thank You even for the inadequacies that allow me to concentrate on those areas that only, as a woman, can I excel in.  Thank You most of all for the love that is shown to me as a woman and for that unique brand of love only I, as a woman, can give.  Make me sensitive to love and able to respond to it openly.  And thank You, God, for the freedom of self-fulfillment that Love has given me.  May I always be a feminine woman and proud to be one.

 

I quietly smoothed the page as I laid it on my desk.  I thought of the many women I had met those years ago.  Some had screamed protests of activism, of their own concept of equality, until they had shriveled into their own self consumed souls.  Some had let the movement destroy their marriages and left their own daughters confused and falsely genderless.  Others had harbored bitterness and striving that had made them strike out on their own, leaving many to empty shells of existence.  Still, quietly, a vast number had continued on, enjoying their roles as wives, mothers, women, and ladies, finding sweet content in their unhighlighted, unheralded lives.

I raised my eyes to look around my home.  Some might have called it an empty nest, I did not see it so.  Though the little chicks had grown and flown away, the old parent birds still found warmth and companionship there.  Did my life have meaning and purpose?  My grown children constantly affirmed that it had and did.  My grandchildren gave me worth by just saying, "Love you, Grandma."  My husband still needed, wanted, respected and cherished me.

The boldly spoken words of the years before were now a quiet calm reality.  I was indeed "The Emancipated Woman" of my declaration article, set free by my Lord to be uniquely and eternally His.

"Honey," called my husband’s voice from the back yard, "Honey, I need your help."

"I’m coming," I voiced back, "I’ll be right there to help you."

Joyfully, securely, freely, I rose from the desk and walked to the door.