Women: The Road Ahead (Elisabeth Elliot)

I know I didn’t write this, but I promise you should read anyway. Elisabeth reminds us that choosing obedience to the call of God on our lives means warfare and fighting the good fight. I think that sometimes the initial choice is so hard we forget that the battle has only begun with that first step.

Read on. And when you’re done, pray for someone you know, that she would have the grace to stand — and having done all else, stand.

A special issue of a leading news magazine had this title for its theme. There were pictures of women in prison with babies; an inconsolable “crack” baby with a tangle of tubes connected to machines, crying his little heart out; a mother charged with a felony: delivery of drugs to her newborn child; women in politics “sharing real rather than cosmetic power;” a veiled Muslim woman; ten tough-minded women who “create individual rules for success,” e.g. a police chief, a bishop, a rock climber, a baseball club owner, a rap artist, a fashion tycoon, an Indian chief, and others. There were single mothers, lesbian mothers, divorced mothers, working (outside the home) mothers. There was a twelve-year-old who fixes supper for her sisters when Mom works late, and there was a man who is a househusband. But there was not one picture of a father and mother and their children. Not one.

“A jockstrap was a parting gift when Marion Howington retired last year from the once all-male post of senior v.p. at J. Walter Thompson…. For Howington, a striking 60, who began climbing the agency’s ladder in Chicago in 1967, the key to success was to `be aggressive’ and `think like a man.’…

`There’s not a woman anywhere who made it in business who is not tough, self-centered, and enormously aggressive.'”

Readers occasionally ask me why I write about horrifying stuff. Well, to precipitate prayer and to remind us that we do not engage in a war against mere flesh and blood. As Ephesians 6 says, “We are up against the unseen power that controls this dark world, and spiritual agents from the headquarters of evil…Take your stand then with truth as your belt, righteousness your breastplate, the Gospel of peace firmly on your feet, salvation as your helmet and in your hand the sword of the Spirit, the Word of God” (PHILLIPS).

There was at least one bright note in that special issue. Sixty-six percent of women aged 18-24 answered yes to the question, “If you had the opportunity, would you be interested in staying at home and raising children?” They are beginning to see that the corporate world is no day at the beach. There was encouragement also in a letter to Ann Landers from a former executive: “It suddenly dawned on me that I had my priorities bollixed up and my children deserve better. I had to admit getting fulfillment from my career was a pipe dream. It may elude me in motherhood as well, but I now know what really matters. After nine years of paying someone to raise my children, I was forced to admit my family is more important to me than anything else. I wish I had known this when my first child was born. I am now thirty-six years old and happy to say we are expecting our third child… This means cutting down on vacations, and our entertaining will be reduced to popcorn and video parties with a few old friends…. `No success in life can compensate for failure at home.'”

I had a letter from one who made it her goal to be like the godly woman of Titus 2:3-5. As usual, when one determines to obey the Lord “the enemy was there causing me to feel like my whole world is on a roller-coaster, that my family was not important, that I am worthless, lazy, because I am a homemaker. I was so tired sometimes I could barely get meals on the table. I heard remarks like, `Oh, you aren’t working at all? How do you manage to live on one income? It’s hard on your husband! What do you do all day? You must be bored!’

“As my husband and I listened to your program we reaffirmed the goals we had set and committed them to the Lord once more…Pray for me to be strong and of good courage and to remain faithful, with an attitude of submission, a true handmaid of the Lord.”

Women need to be prayed for. They need all the encouragement they can get. Sadly, it is not always forthcoming even from other Christians. I saw a lovely girl in the market the other day with the sweetest of sweet baby girls in her grocery cart. I asked about the baby–five months old, her only child so far. “Are you able to stay home to care for her?” “Oh yes! Oh, I can’t even imagine putting her in day care.” I gave her my blessing. Perhaps even a brief word from a stranger can make a difference to a young mother.

Prayer lays hold of God’s plan and becomes the link between His will and its accomplishment on earth. Things happen which would not happen without prayer. Let’s not forget that. Amazing things happen, and we are given the privilege of being the channels of the Holy Spirit’s prayer. As we pray against abortion and pornography and homosexuality and divorce and drugs and for the strengthening of homes and families, we often feel helpless and hopeless until we remember, “We do not know how to pray worthily as sons of God, but his Spirit within us is actually praying for us in those agonizing longings which never find words” (Romans 8:26, PHILLIPS).

snow day

Sunday morning and we are snowed in. The local radio stations announce cancellations while cold gusts of wind whip the snowstorm into a frenzy. Plows can’t keep up (or don’t bother?…), and so it’s decided: we’ll stay home.

Can’t say I mind. There’s nothing as snuggly and cuddly as an impromptu day at home with a Christmas tree, food, blankets, and a fire in the hearth — with a blanket of snow piled high outside the window.

I just wish we could open presents. Seems like a perfect day for that.

:)

there is no place like home for the holidays…

It’s snowing. [I know that’s nothing new for most of you, but for me, it’s my very first snowstorm this year!]

I’m eating a rum log, just frosted by my (growing up beautifully and too quickly) baby sister.

It’s cold, cold, cold outside, but we’re all toasty warm in a Christmas-time house.

Yay. I’m home.

*****

Jameson was a doll. He managed a cross-continent flight, two incredibly late-night restaurant outings, two days of hotel rooms and funeral homes and ceremonies, and a 12-hour drive to NY.

And he was a doll the entire time. What a sweet boy.

*****

I was so glad to be in Arlington, glad to be a part, glad to be able to hear sharing. But oh how hard. How very, very sad. So much heart aching. So much not understanding. Five weeks later, still so much just wanting it to not be.

*****

Christmas time is here. Merrick is ecstatic about his growing number of presents under the tree. Yes, all of the things that make this what “children call their favorite time of year.”

But most of all, an opportunity to turn yearning hearts towards His Coming. To encourage our hearts with the truth that 2000 years ago, He remembered us and our plight — and some day soon, He will intervene again.

a boy outing

Today Ryan took Jameson out for a few hours while I tackled my to-dos. Here are the updates that arrived periodically in my inbox:

Mom, dad’s taking me on a train ride!!!

J

I’m gonna miss dad. [on the carousel ALONE!]

[more fun…]

Mom,

We just finished lunch. Dad let me drink some of his milk and eat some
of his bagel–yum! Gotta go, got a mouth full.

J

Hi mom,

We’re on our way home, I had so much fun and dad said I was a total
angel–despite the fact I’m SO tired and SO hungry. …dad’s bagel
isn’t cutting it!

See u soon mom!

Love,
J

misc. notes

We decided against getting a tree this year. Since I’m leaving on Monday, it seemed a bit silly to pay, you know, $88 for something we’d barely enjoy. At first I thought maybe we could get a little live tree — miniature and sweet and all that. But even that, Ryan enlightened me, would be a silly expense.

So no tree —

Until Tuesday night, when Ryan came home from work bearing a gift: a very tiny potted tree for us to set on the kitchen table and hang our advent books on. And no ordinary tree, at that. He brought me a rosemary Christmas tree.

This means that I will be able to plant our little tree and enjoy its herbal contributions to my cooking all year long.

It also means that there are some funny-looking spots where I’ve already yanked a few branches and thrown them into the pot.

Shouldn’t all Christmas trees be rosemary bushes?

*****

Today is the day: Packing Day, Laundry Day, Iron-all-Ryan’s-shirts Day, Cleaning Day, and Mail-the-packages Day.

Somebody else wanna do this day for me? These are not my favorite kinds of days.

*****

Today is also a birthday. Yes, my dear friend is having a birthday, but I won’t say her name, and I won’t talk anymore about it, because the truth is we’re all (we three Musketeers, that is) edging closer to 30 than we’re comfortable with. The good news, of course, is that I’m the youngest; they’ll both be 30 waaaay before me.

*****

Jameson has never been a good napper, as I’m sure you’ve heard before on this here blog. The last 48 hours, though, he’s been as bad as ever. Suddenly it’s impossible to lay him in his crib without him waking up and crying. Literally, the second his bottom touches the mattress, he’s awake. And crying. Day 1 wasn’t fun, but I lived, and chalked it off to “one of those days.” Day 2, I decided to just push him for as long as possible, get him good and tired, and then surely. Surely!… It was not to be.

[end rambling intro to story]

So yesterday afternoon, he’d fallen asleep for the fourth time, and I stood cradling him in front of his crib, ready to attempt laying him down for the fourth time. Through my loving, selfless mind flew words something like, Oh my goodness, if this kid doesn’t take a nap, heaven help me, I’m gonna —

I’m not sure what threat I was going to throw at heaven. Probably nothing. Probably just a big fat bluff, as usual.

But I never got that far.

My lovely train of thought was interrupted by a certain refrain. Loud and clear (in my mind) came the words:

Refiner’s fire, my heart’s one desire…

I almost laughed out loud.

I suddenly saw this long string of failed naps as one big refining fire. Yes, I was the gold, the silver, full of impurities that would only be brought out in the heat of the fire. And every time that bottom hit the mattress, and my dreams of an hour’s productivity came crashing down around me, the refining fire was being turned up a notch. Selfishness, impatience, frustration, selfishness (did I already say that?) were being brought to the surface.

And it was my choice to see this crib as an altar, a place to yield my heart and all of its failings, or to cling to my ugliness and walk away unchanged.

Refiner’s fire…

When Derek would sing that at youth rallies, and I would commit my whole self to the sanctifying process in response, I can’t say that I ever was picturing the crib-side drama of the last two days.

And I could be tempted to say, “This is soooo much less glorious than what You led me to believe it would be!”

But the truth is, I was totally blessed yesterday to realize that here, in my humble little life that can seem so much less than spiritual, there is an altar. Embracing motherhood doesn’t mean leaving all of the exciting encounters with Jesus behind. Nope, not at all. In fact, if I’m attentive, I’ll realize that amazing altar calls and radical calls to surrender are abounding, and Jesus is here in my house!

I love, love, love that He is Emmanuel.

(I think I’ve said that before, too.)

[And now I need to go change a dirty diaper. Oh yes, the high and noble calling… :)]

disjointed? perhaps.

It’s pouring buckets outside. In fact, the storm started with such ferocity that it woke us up.

I only mention this because it’s the first rainstorm we’ve had since I moved here six months ago. (Okay, 5 1/2.)

*****

Rainstorms and Christmas music just don’t jive, in my Northeast opinion. Neither do flip-flops (outside) and Christmas lights, paper snowflakes and blooming poppies, or snowmen and farmer’s markets. I mean, really.

That said, I totally understand why people love it here. Aside from the occasional earthquake, mudslide, and [not so occasional] uncontrollable fire, there’s not much to complain about. As hard as it is for me to feel much Christmas spirit on an afternoon of sunshine and high 60s, I can’t say I mind walking to the grocery store in a long-sleeved t-shirt.

*****

Part of why I don’t mind is that I know I’m going to get my Christmas fix in less than a week. Yes, I am flying home. If it weren’t for that word “flying”, I’d say I’m totally excited.

But I’m supposed to be working on my attitude about all that, right?

Actually, Ryan found me a non-stop flight that is less than 5 hours long. That means zero possibility of me missing a connection! Yes, yes, yes!

*****

That non-stop flight will bring Jameson and me to Washington D.C., where I will meet my parents and attend the services for Christian Skoglund. This is due to my husband’s generosity, and I’m so thankful to be able to go. So thankful.

*****

I’ve been reading through the Samuels. I try to read out loud to Jameson. He doesn’t necessarily listen, but he at least hears me, as he plays in the kitchen cupboards while I sit and have my devotions. Anyway, today brought me to 2 Samuel 11.

Does anyone else absolutely shudder — and maybe even want to change their reading plan to, say, Philemon — when they read that first verse, “Then it happened in the spring, at the time when kings to out to battle

Oh, I cringe every time. I get a pit in my stomach. It’s like watching a movie, and suddenly the music tells of coming doom, and you pull the afghan over your head and screech, “Tell me when it’s over!” Only it’s hard to do the whole afghan thing when you’re reading.

Anyway, today (and truth be told, yesterday, because I knew this chapter was coming and I’d already been thinking about it), I thought again of what safety there is in just doing what you’re supposed to do.

Sometimes I get bored. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a desert. Sometimes I wonder, if I just changed things up a little bit, maybe I’d feel better. Sometimes I get tired of my responsibilities. Sometimes I get weary in well-doing. Sometimes I just don’t feel like it.

But so many times, I’ve heard the Spirit remind me: Just do what you’re supposed to do. Make sure that when He finds you, He finds you where you are supposed to be.

If you’re the king, do what kings are supposed to do. If you’re a mom, do what moms are supposed to do.

And whatever you do, DON’T GO FOR A WALK ON THE ROOF!

(I assume that’s the moral of the story, right? No? Oh.)