Fine print: This post inspired by Sandi Glahn’s recent post, Gender Difference: Lose the Boxes. Also, I’m currently on my way to Calvin’s Festival of Faith and Writing!
A few years ago, I was lamenting my struggles with my writing, work, and fulfillment. A friend commented, “Sometimes you sound more like a man.”
I say this to my shame: I took pride in that comment.
I grew up with dreams of becoming First Woman President!, or a lawyer, or a flutist in a major symphony, or a concert pianist, or a professor.
I grew up discussing theology at the adult’s table. My dad challenged me to think and participate. While we discussed gender issues, there was no woman’s theology or man’s theology.
I grew up thinking all of this compatible with marrying and having children or remaining single (though I assumed the former). (Also, on a mission trip where we bestowed awards on each other for fun, my travel mates awarded me “Most Feminine,” and I’m still trying to figure out what that means.)
Then one day someone told me that men dream of careers and women dream of families, that men struggle to find their identities in work and women in relationships.
Oh.
If that’s the case, I thought, I’d rather be like a man because to find identity in relationship seemed like weakness to me. (I neglected to consider how identity in work is also weakness.) I wanted to leave a legacy, and I wanted to do so through music (or books or students or, at one distant time, law).
When I got married, I made the decision to forgo my latest dream–to plant churches in Italy. I was all dressed up in a Masters of Theology and nowhere to go.
Until I found a new dream–writing (rediscovered a very old dream, is more accurate, but that’s neither here nor there). This, like other dreams, did not pan out how I imagined it would. I wanted to have a book published before starting a family (you may notice I have a son and no published novel). I wanted to make my mark, change the world, connect with people (preferably lots of them).
These days, I don’t know what my writing dreams are anymore. I know that I write and will continue to write, and that, for now, I write short stories that I stubbornly send to journals whether they like it or not. These days, I strive to be a homemaker not because I suddenly love house and home and all things domestic but because I see homemaking as a way of being hospitable, a value Jesus holds and models for all Christians, men and women. (Side note: I don’t believe homemaking a necessary trait of hospitality. Jesus was homeless yet practiced hospitality. Chris and I practice hospitality in part through inviting others to fellowship in our home.) These days, I also love knitting and (mostly vegetable) gardening, and also, we’re in the market for a minivan, so maybe I am becoming the suburban mom as I once feared.
Whether empire-building (a term from Sandi’s amazing post, see above) or homemaking or–dare I say it–both, I cannot do either in order to find my identity or define myself or my gender. And I must do both in service to God. Ay, there’s the rub, because I have a tendency to do all things not unto Christ but unto myself, so that others may look at me and marvel (in a good way preferably).
What does this mean for my womanhood and femininity? Thankfully, God created men and women in his image, men and women who think theologically, who serve God in career, family, church, neighborhood, who use their unique mixes of gifts to welcome all into fellowship with God and each other. Maybe I don’t have to figure out what it means to be feminine, what it means that I enjoy watching sports more than my husband (except for basketball) but that I do so while knitting, what it means that I hate heels (or shoes in general) but that I prefer long, flowy skirts to jeans (also, I can never be sure what matches and what’s in style), what it means that I’ve often burnt dinner because I was writing or reading or that my husband is a better cook than I am (and a better-looking cook) or that I can’t seem to figure out how to organize all the necessary components for a trip while all the women in my life can pack a family for a week in one carry-on, remember the sunscreen and look good. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe I can just be me and let the rest of the world figure it out.
In the meantime, I’m going to settle down with a good book.





