Often on this
site, I share epiphanies I have throughout the day, but today I decided to
share something a little different. I’m going to shine a spotlight into who I
am: a female, a girl, a woman, and a lady from a different time.
The first
observation anyone would make when meeting me is that I am a female; that’s my
gender. I was born with female body parts, and I have all the “wonderful”
female hormones that accompany the gender. Those hormones contribute to
occasional moodiness and breakdowns. Yes, I’m an emotional being. I’m extremely
sensitive, and I cry when I get hurt. I’m not going to apologize for any of
those things. They are a part of being a female for me, and I am proudly of the
female gender.
Secondly, I’m a
girl. As a matter of fact, I’m a girlie girl. As a small child, I loved dolls
and dollhouses and baby dolls. When we played house, I always wanted the role
of the mommy. I wore nightgowns on my head and pretended it was my hair. I
would cry and beg my mother not to cut my hair. I wanted long hair. It was what
I liked, but she hated long hair, so she kept mine short most of the time.
Occasionally, she would give in to my pleas and allow me to grow out my hair,
and I would be so happy. Long hair made me feel feminine. I had a low
self-esteem, so it was important to me that I felt like a girl because I
related femininity to beauty, and every little girl wants to feel beautiful.
I had another
weapon at my disposal in the beauty arsenal; I always felt prettier in a dress.
My mother would make me dresses covered in lace and frills, and I adored them!
Not only did I feel beautiful when I slipped on a dress, but I felt more
comfortable (more myself) when I wore a skirt or a dress than I did when I wore
a pair of pants, so I was often found wearing them. In the 1960’s the feminist
movement brought up many valid issues where women needed to be protected; the
movement also addressed gender roles. I was born after these movements began,
and yet I was born a girl from a different time period. I longed for the
traditional role of a girl.
Thirdly, I’m a
woman; I was raised being taught that God gave women brains just like He gave
men brains. I never doubted it either. I was fairly smart in school, but I also
understood that being a woman did make me different from a man, and I was
intelligent enough to deduce the differences. I don’t care to try to do
everything a man can do because I acknowledge the fact that I can’t do
everything a man can do. My body was not made the same as a man’s. I have
limitations, but I also understand that men have their limitations as well.
There are things women excel in that men can’t do. It doesn’t mean men are less
than women, and it doesn’t mean women are less than men. It simply means we are
different, and there is nothing wrong with being different from one another,
but for some reason in today’s society many women seem to desire to be seen as
equal to a man in every aspect: in pay, in respect, and in job opportunities. I’m
just a woman from a different time. I believe my pay should be equal to a man’s.
I believe the respect I receive should be equal to a man, but I acknowledge I
cannot be seen as an equal to a man in every job opportunity. My dad was a
fireman. A fireman needs to be able to carry a person down a flight of stairs
to get them out of the house if it’s on fire. If I can pass all the
requirements set in place for a man to become a fireman, which includes being
able to carry a person down a flight of stairs, then I should be considered an
equal in that job opportunity, but if I cannot pass that test, then the test
should not be dumbed down for me because I’m a woman.
A few years back
a storm came through and knocked limbs out of the trees at my dad’s house. They
were massive limbs—limbs as big as tree trunks. I took my teenage son with me
to help my dad clean up. We got down to the biggest part of the limb. Daddy
needed to lift it off the ground a little in order to cut through it. I didn’t
want my dad (whose health was declining) to have to lift it, so I told him to
stand back and allow me to do it. He chuckled. He didn’t chuckle out of meanness,
but he knew I would not be able to lift it because a woman’s strength lies in
her hips and legs. A man’s strength is in his arms and chest. I tried to lift
it; it wouldn’t budge. My fifteen-year-old son stepped over (after a few
laughs!) and picked it right up. You see—I’m a woman; I’m not a man. I can’t do
everything a man can do, but I was never meant to. I get to do something
extraordinary that a man can never do, give birth. Men and women are different,
and that’s okay.
Lastly, but most
definitely not least, I’m a lady. Today’s society scoffs at a woman who
presents herself as a lady to the world. You can often read thoughts through
the eyes, and I’ve read the criticisms of the way I choose to dress. The gossips
being spoken have gotten back to me. I’ve heard the whispers that I’m religious
because of the way I dress. It’s also been said that I’m in the bondage of
legalism. You may be wondering what I mean by how I choose to dress, and then
you may ask yourself why I dress the way I do. To answer the first question,
you will usually find me wearing a dress or a skirt. To answer the second
question, do you remember what I said about feeling more comfortable in a dress
when I was a little girl? That never changed. I allowed society and fashion to
dictate my choice of clothing for years—most of my teenage and adult life, in
fact, but within the last three years, I have been discovering a freedom I
never knew I could experience, a freedom to be me!
Society screams
tolerance of those who “want to be themselves”, yet I have found judgment
around almost every corner because I love wearing dresses, and I love having
long hair, and I’m over forty years old. Some people even feel sorry for me
because they think I’m a poor Pentecostal girl chained by religion, legalism,
and my domineering husband to “having” to wear dresses and keep my hair long.
Please don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not in bondage. I’m freer than I’ve ever
been. Yes, I’m Pentecostal, but my relationship with Jesus is not about what I “can’t”
do. I’m sure there are plenty of women who are in such a bondage, but that’s
not me. My husband is not domineering in the least, and I obey what God shows “me”
in the Word, not what a man or a church says I must do. I loved long hair and
dresses way before I even knew what a Pentecostal was.
I’m simply being
me, and I’ve always felt more comfortable in a dress. A few years ago I broke
free from feeling that I had to wear what society demanded I wear. The world
seemed to be painting a particular picture for women to fill, and I did not
find myself or my heart amongst the colors they were using. Society was
painting a picture that destroyed what it meant to me to be feminine, so I
decided to make a stand for femininity.
I’m a female; I’m
a girl; I’m a woman, and I am a lady, but I am from a different time. I will
allow my husband to open the door for me. I will allow him to fight to protect
me, and yes, I will allow him to pick up that heavy box so that I don’t have to
do it. I will not criticize him for being a gentleman. He treats me like a lady
because I am one. For me, my way of showing that is to dress in a way that
expresses my femininity to the world. I don’t expect any of you to be me or to
have my heart, so all I ask is the same in return. Don’t expect me to be like
you.
Be Blessed and Be Made Whole,
Pinky
